“And when the day of Pentecost was fully come, they were all with one accord in one place. And suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind, and tt filled all the house where they were sitting. And there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance.” Acts 2:1-4.
God ever moves with forethought, precision and punctuality.
There was a fixed date for the birth of Christ. The star, the caroling angels and the attendant sequence of events coincided precisely.
There was a fixed date for Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, and the match was struck to the tinder at the exact moment of its utmost inflammability.
There was a fixed hour for His burial and resurrection. His forty day walk upon earth after His resurrection was perfectly timed.
Just so there was a fixed day for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit.
Fifty days separate Passover and Pentecost.
Three days in the grave, forty days comforting and instructing His little ones, seven days to Pentecost after the Ascension — and lo, the day was fully come. Thus we read concerning the moment of the Spirit’s advent, “And when the day of Pentecost was fully COU anes 9
And surely our Christ, who is coming again, has an appointed hour; and He who is to come will come and shall not tarry. There is no random, haphazard uncertainty in the movements of our God.
“They were all with one accord in one place.”
Petty jealousy, criticism and strife had no place in _ the Upper Room.
That “one place’’ was the place of lowly humility and self-abasement, the place of faith and obedience at the feet of Christ.
The greatest Bishop and the lowliest Convert must each come to the ‘‘one place’”’ before receiving this gracious gift. One cannot plead one’s own worthiness, past exploits or merits, as a means of receiving the gift of the Holy Spirit. Each must come humble, empty, yielded, ere the Lord can fill him with His power.
“When suddenly there came a sound from heaven —”
The first word we read concerning the coming of the Hae Person of the Godhead is that there was a sound.
Thank God, there is still a sownd when men are really filled with the Spirit! The devil hates that sound. He would hush us and bid us scorn the noisy meeting, and the old fashioned pouring out of the heart to God. He would have us put aside the “Hallelujah, Thine the Glory; revive us again” songs, and replace them with “Hark from the tombs a doleful sound.” Full well he knows that the joy of the Lord is our strength, and he acts accordingly. _Many of us are so dead and corpse-like in our worship that one can well understand the mistake of the lad who, upon being questioned as to the preacher’s text, replied:
“Many are cold and a few are frozen.”
The sound which came from the Upper Room on the Day of Pentecost was not of earth-born origin or fleshly fanaticism. It was literally a “sound from heaven.”’ When the “‘sound”’ of praise is really from “heaven,” it is Spirit-attuned and easily recognizable. It is asound of Christ-glorification, a sound of brotherly love, a sound of zeal for soul-winning, a sound inimitable and unmistakable.
The voices of the hundred and twenty bore no discord, though all spake at once. Rather were they as a harp of a thousand strings, swept by the invisible fingers of the Infinite.
“As of a rushing mighty wind —”’
Consider for a moment the significance of the term.
The Master, when seeking earth words with which to clothe the description of the glorious coming of the Spirit, had likened Him to the wind, whose comings and goings cannot be seen by mortal eye, but whose invisible power is none the less apparent and universal.
What an apt and glorious simile!
But for the Holy Spirit, the early church would have lain on a motionless sea like a becalmed ship, with listless sails slackened, drooping and powerless. For the disciples to have tried, by their own human power and ability, to launch it upon its world-wide mission, would have been futile — almost ridiculous. It would have been as toilsomely slow as to have sought to row a great ship with a pair of oars; like Peter trying to win the battle of the Lord by cutting off a servant’s ear; or like endeavoring to move a mountain into the sea by pressing upon it with the naked hand.
Something greater and more powerful was needed — something cataclysmic, super-human, irresistible, limitless.
And here it was!
“As a rushing, mighty wind,” the Spirit filled the room.
Into their spiritual nostrils God breathed even as He had breathed into the nostrils of the man of clay upon creation’s morn.
The disciples, as clay forms, shapen under the deft hands and words of the Master, were nevertheless as powerless for real service as was Adam upon God’s moulding board before the inbreathed breath of life had entered in and quickened him.
Sleeping in the garden when they should have prayed, denying when they should have owned, cursing when they should have praised, they had proven their own helplessness and independability.
But, now! Now! eats great, overwhelming Spirit of power was upon them!
Sails, which had been set and ready, suddenly billowed and filled under the impact of that rushing, mighty wind; and the church ship was skimming across the sea of life on her errand of service and obedience.
No pulling at powerless oars!
No futile, frantic, human endeavors!
Just the great, compelling, impelling, surging force of the Spirit from on High.
“Wind —”
The phrase recalls the experience of that gallant warrior, David. Surrounded and outnumbered by his foes, he paused to consult the wisdom and resources of God.
“Twould be well for us if we would emulate his example and cry:
“O Lord, Iam outnumbered by my foes! The odds are tremendously against me! I am utterly surrounded! Yet in Thy Word shall I be confident. Shall I go forth and fight against them in my weakness? And shall I hope to triumph?”
Like David of old, we too are surrounded by our foes. In a great, wolf-like, fast-closing circle they are arrayed: Unbelief, Atheism, Modernism, Evolution, Higher Criticism, Worldliness, Apostasy, False Teachings. Their numbers and their strength are greater than ours.
The theatres, ablaze with electric lights from door to dome, shimmer their nightly invitation to our young.
The dance hall, flashing as with ten thousand gems, dazzles the eyes of our youth and strips us of their spiritual help.
The colleges — even some theological seminaries — have gone rankly evolutionary and are turning out cold, faith-destroying, shriveled-souled, hireling preachers unworthy of the name.
What shall we do, go forth single handed and alone fight these circling hosts? Shall we not harken rather to God’s instructions to His child of yore? In spirit they are identical with those given unto the early Church. Can you not hear Him saying:
“Go not forth in your own strength, but tarry here until ye hear the ‘sound of the going’ in the tops of the mulberry trees; then shall ye know that thy God is with thee and shall fight for thee with an invisible army.”
Remember how David tarried. Remember how the “sound of the going’’ shook the trees, and how victory followed with almost ridiculous ease.
If David needed this power from on high; if the hundred and twenty needed it; if the disciples who had walked closely with Jesus for three years needed it; then Brother, Sister, we of today can no longer afford to be without it!
The armour of Saul could not help David slay Goliath of Gath.
Rather a shepherd’s sling and five smooth stones from the valley stream, with the presence and help of God, than all the armour and over-sized helmets in the world, without His presence!
Rather a simple education upon the knees in the closet of prayer before an open, tear-stained Bible and the irresistible power of God’s invisible army than all the theological quibblings and analyzings and ponderings in the world, without the broken and contrite spirit with power from on High!
“Prophesy unto the wind, prophesy, son of man, and say to the wind, Thus saith the Lord God; Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.”’
Thus God instructed His servant Ezekiel, when confronted with the problem of the Valley of Dry Bones.
When Ezekiel prophesied as the Lord commanded him, the noise of the ‘‘wind’’ filled the valley; and lo, the dead lived again and stood upon their feet, an exceeding great army.
Are not the majority of modern “Ezekiels” faced by the same valley of “Dry Bones’”— so dry they never say ‘‘Amen”’ or ‘‘Hallelujah’”— so dry they are worthless to the prayer meeting, devoid of testimony and service?
There they lie, inert and lifeless, fruitless and useless to God or to His church. Yet let us rail not upon the “bones,” but rather upon the ‘‘Ezekiels.” It is not the fault of the people that they are dry. It is not the fault of the pew that it has a dearth of spiritual power. It is we — we of the clergy — who have failed God miserably in not tarrying before Him for the power and praying down the rushing, mighty wind upon our particular valley of “dry bones’!
God is in His Heaven.
The rushing wind of His Spirit still fills the treasuries of the Lord.
Dry bones still await life.
The preacher, the evangelist is still the key to the situation. Through faith and the obedient preaching of the Word, the storehouse of God’s blessings may still be opened.
But if the saying “‘like preacher, like pew,” holds true, how can we reap a revival in the pew, with a revival-less preacher in the pulpit? Or how shall we gather an abundant harvest from seed sown with a miserly and doubting hand?
But let us continue the examination of the context.
“Tt filled all the house where they were sitting.”
What caused this inrush of power?
This question may perhaps be best answered by another question:
“What causes wind to blow?”
“A vacuum,” you answer.
Correct. And was not this the very condition which attracted that mighty power to the Upper Room? Wherever there is an empty space, wind rushes in to fill it. Wherever there is an empty, clean, waiting heart, the Spirit of God will come sweeping in with all His quickening power.
I recall a day when, sailing as a missionary to China, our ship lay in a dead calm on the Indian Ocean. It seemed that the whole circle of sea lay cupped within the copper bow] of the sky; a vacuum from which all air had been forced.
A peculiar hush held in the atmosphere, in suspended animation. It was as though sea and sky were breathlessly waiting, listening for some distant sound. The dusky shoulders of the sultry sea seemed crouched as though tensing for a giant upheaval. So still was the air that breathing was difficult. Drops of moisture stood upon the brow of the captain as he excused himself from the circle of passengers with whom he had been talking, and mounted the narrow stairs to the bridge. The barometer was falling rapidly, almost as though someone had broken the red bulb below.
The sound of dead quiet was shattered now by voices from the bridge. Sailors were ordered to lash deck chairs and make fast the forward cargo. Then, to my amazement, all passengers were instructed to leave the deck and go below. Followed the sound of doors being closed and hatches battened down.
Going to my stateroom I knelt upon the bed with my face pressed to the porthole. The electric fan created the only current of air. Upon the distant horizon, I saw a great black wall of water suddenly rear itself up. A sound which can be likened but to the screaming of women was heard high overhead.
“Q-9-0-0-0!”’ it wailed, and ran up, up the scale to a shrill shriek.
A steward rapped sharply on the door. There was a strained look upon his face. He closed the porthole, screwed the fastening tightly, moved the few articles which were loose on the dresser and examined the fastenings of the side-board of the bed to be sure they were secure. Wide-eyed at these evident preparations for a stiff storm, and becoming restive under the awesome silence that swathed ship and sea, I felt the need of speech and asked the inconsequential question:
“What shall we do for air? There was little enough before you closed the windows, but now it will be stifling.”’
“Don’t worry about air!” said he a little grimly. “There will be plenty of it along in a few minutes.”
He went out and closed the door. I resumed my place at the window. The sound of the distant wind had risen in volume and pitch. It was running little crescendos now, like a flute player. The black wall was sweeping toward us, yet we were in an absolute calm. The ship shivered slightly and swung to face her foe.
Then, suddenly, it was upon us!
A great mountain of water towered above the ship. It seemed about to break upon us, smashing us like a cardboard box, then it shifted and lifted us like a cork, up, up—creakingly, shiveringly, tremblingly up. Then we went sliding down the other side of a mottled precipice into a black chasm, only to see other mountains of dark fury marching down upon us, of which the first had been a tiny foothill.
The storm, which lasted for four days, so blew us out of our course that we were in sight of Manila ere we ceased running before the force of it. At last, when wind and rain and sea permitted, we ventured on deck, secured by small ropes which had been fastened to the inner rail, lest we slip overboard.
“What is the cause of such a storm?” we asked the captain when he came to the table for the first time in many anxious days.
“A vacuum,” he replied. “Whenever there is an empty pocket, such as that through which we sailed, the winds from all directions rush in to fill it.”
There was an empty place in the Upper Room.
The hearts of the hundred and twenty were not only willing, yielded and clean; but they were empty. Because they were emptied of self and of self-desire, the rushing, mighty fulness of God’s Holy Spirit came in and filled them to overflowing.
It matters not how full a pitcher of gold — it can never be filled with water until emptied of its present contents. Likewise, when one comes to the “Upper Room” and tarries for the Spirit, the heart must be emptied of all else that there may be room for His incoming. Our own goodness, our own accomplishments must be emptied out.
There is no use in praying thus:
“Tord, consider my many years of service; consider the number of sermons I have preached, the early
y hours at which I have risen to prepare my Sunda School lessons; and by reaso n of my zeal and goodn ess bestow upon me, I pray, this power from on High.
Not through our merits, but throu gh the merit s of the atoning Blood alone may we claim the promi se.
Not through our goodness, but through the good-
lf. ness of Christ, may we obtain the Blesser Himse
Miraculous, is it not, how self diminishes as we approach the Lord? It is aS one approaching the Rocky Mountains who cries from afar:
“Pout! These mountains are not high; in fact, they
hand are but ant hills. By the simple lifting of a before my face I can blot them from my visio n!”
But wait! Wait until he has approached those hills
ts. and begun to climb their lofty, wind-swept summiched He then looks down at the house s and fields stret
his like checkerboards in the plains below, and lifts face to view the snow crowned, cloud enshrouded pinnacles above, and cries:
“I am but an ant upon a mountain! O Jehovah! What is man that Thou art mindful of him?”
It is when we are the coldest, and living the most smug, self-complacent life, that we are prone to say:
“For my part, I feel no need of a deeper experience. I am quite satisfied with my present status.”
Imagine being content with a mud-puddle when the ocean is just over the hill; or with a weak, anaemic, apologetic testimony and prayer life, when the fulness of the Spirit, with His rushing wind and His tongues of living fire, is to be had for the asking!
“And there appeared unto them cloven tongues, like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them.”
Not “tons of ice” but “tongues of fire” sat on them. They became, not cold, formal, supercilious refrigerators; but blazing, oil dipped, God-ignited, whitehot fire brands. Light, heat and power blazed from the windows of that Upper Room.
Our God is a consuming fire, and He would not have those who worship Him cold or luke-warm, but aflame with His love. He would kindle our prayers, our testimonies, our songs, our messages until they blaze with Holy Fire and heavenly zeal.
“Fire! Fire! Fire!” shouted the churchmen in a nearby town when they discovered their frame church was burning. Help came from every direction, and men worked feverishly in a long “bucket brigade.” But it was in vain, for the fire blazed fiercely on.
“What are you doing here?” asked one volunteer fire-fighter of an old Scotch atheist who, attracted by the flames, had come to look on.
“You have been living here for fifteen years, and this is the first time that I have ever seen you at the church. Why are you here now?”
“Sir,” replied the Scot, “this is the first time I’ve seen the church on fire. Otherwise, I would have been here before.”’
Beneath the windows of the Upper Room the busy world paid small heed to the comings and goings of the disciples until the Fire descended. But once the Glory fell, they were a force, a power, a vital living factor in the evangelization of the world for God; and the community turned out to see what was going on.
How the Church needs the Fire today!
In certain towns in Asia Minor, flint is still used to strike a fire, and because of the effort and time consumed in thus kindling a blaze, women are wont to borrow coals of their neighbors. Coming out upon the street in the morning the housewife looks in either direction, her uplifted gaze searching the housetops for a chimney from which smoke is emanating. Then, with bucket and tongs, she visits that house and borrows from the fire glowing embers with which to kindle a blaze upon her own hearth. Neighbors, in turn, come to her newly kindled fire for embers which provide other red coals and in turn pass them on to another. Soon from chimneys all up and down the i, heather-blue streamers of smoke weave heavenward.
So with many churches. The fire in the pulpit has gone out. True it has been replaced by the flame in the basement cook-stove where the chicken dinner is being prepared for the church social. But this can never take the place of the Spirit or ascend unto Heaven as a sanctified and salutary sacrifice. 118 THe 4H OLY > PIBiT
Men and women are standing in the crossroads today, looking for the chimney from which the signs of fire arise. Finding it, they are drawn to the church of the flaming altar as surely as were the throngs drawn to the streets about the Upper Room on the Day of Pentecost.
“What’s your hurry? Where is the fire?” is a common expression when one sees an acquaintance hurrying by. There is always a crowd about a fire, but seldom is curiosity aroused concerning an ice house.
A friend once related to me his experience in visiting a small church before and after a revival in which the Spirit was copiously outpoured.
“The first time I visited the church,” said he, “‘the place was not half filled. The choir sang formally and the preacher talked in monotonous, sepulchral tones — just the usual church service,’”’ he added naively.
“The second visit, some three months later, left me almost speechless with wonderment. The church was packed, scores stood in the doorways, others sat in the aisles on improvised seats. I worked my way into a corner inside the door.
“The preacher was exhorting ‘like a house afire.’ The choir sang with uplifted hands and shining faces. Amens and Hallelujahs rolled over the audience like the waves of a sea.
“An usher who, on my previous attendance, had been ‘cold as a fish,’ caught me by the hand and shook it warmly, as he exclaimed:
“Gott bless you, Brudder!’
“T looked about me in this German Baptist Church, and then up into the emotion-filled face of the usher and gasped:
“What in the world has happened to this church and to its preacher? I came here some time ago and it was dead and quiet as the ordinary church. I return now, and find it ablaze with life and power. What has happened?’
“Ah, Sir,’ said he, ‘we have had a revival.
“We all haff der Heiliger Geist now.’
“But the preacher! He seems to be so different!’
“*Vah, he’s got der Heiliger Geist, too!’
“*You mean the Holy Ghost?’
“Vah! Yah! Der Heiliger Geist!’
“That church has had full altars ever since, and isa power in the community.”
What a transformation is wrought by the fire of the Holy Spirit! Without it, we are mere lamps, cold and unlighted. Regardless of the ornate design of the lamp and the carving and jewels of learning with which we may adorn it, there is no light or service rendered without the kindling flame of the Holy Spirit. A song may be good, yet lack the fire. A sermon may be well thought out and eloquently rendered, and yet be a lamp without flame.
“And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues as the Spirit gave them utterance.”
When the Gospel bells began to ring out the message, the Lord Himself controlled the tongue.
“The tongue can no man tame,” said an inspired Apostle. ‘It is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.” James 3:8. He likens it unto the “bit”’ in the horse’s mouth, and the “helm” of a mighty ship. ‘That man,” said he, ‘“‘who offendeth not in word, the same is a perfect man.”
If then the tongue assumes so much importance in the eyes of God, small wonder He Himself takes possession thereof. Small wonder He places His own hand as governor upon the helm, or that His own fingers gather in the reins and control the bit.
At Pentecost for the first time since languages and tongues had been confused at the Tower of Babel, men and women spake forth clearly, languages which they had never learned. Through lips of clay the Holy Spirit pealed forth adoring worship to Almighty God. So lost in wonder, love and praise, so filled and choked with thanksgiving were the disciples, that their own stammering words and phraseology were insufficient to give utterance to that which the heart felt. Here was a stream of praise flowing forth, not from the head, but from the innermost being.
Most writers or speakers brush past this strange phenomena of the “speaking with tongues” in Acts 2:4 very lightly — one might almost say apologetically. They try to explain that this was a mere happening and very incidental upon the occasion of His first coming to the hearts of the believers. They urge us to disregard the “wrappings” and consider the gift of the Spirit only. The listener can discern by their every word that they do not approve of God for sending His Spirit in such a manner, and that they could not countenance such things today. They infer very clearly that they believe it would have been much better and far more acceptable to the thinking church at large, had the Lord sent His gift in some other and less conspicuous manner.
Personally, I dare not criticize God; nor can I find it in my heart to wish that He had changed one item of His program on the Day of Pentecost or at any other time. Of course, if one disapproves the manner in which God poured out His Spirit in the beginning, he has no alternative than that of dodging issues and explaining away the happenings of that day as best he may, regardless of the weakness of his arguments.
Turning our eyes from man, with his theorizings, his objections and his substitutes, let us turn to the Word of God for light concerning this strange happening.
eae came the sound like as of a rushing, mighty wind.
Second, came the tongues like as of fire.
Third, came the infilling of the Holy Spirit.
Fourth, they all began to speak with other tongues as the Spirit gave them utterance.
Wistfully many speakers and writers discuss the subject of the Holy Spirit; yet, if this program were laid down for them by God, they would indignantly refuse to accept it. One is sometimes caused to wonder whether they will ever receive the Gift of the Spirit in a manner dissimilar to that in which it was bestowed on the day of Pentecost. They have cut out grooves of their own making, and have eliminated all that is distasteful to their minds. They have cast out as emotional or fanatical or occult all the supernatural manifestations of the experience.
One would perhaps hesitate to make the statement that none shall receive the Spirit in a different manner than did the disciples and the saints of Bible days. It is, however, a self-evident fact that they who refuse the Bible way, and seek some other door, are certainly a long time seeking without finding. Perhaps the Lord must make them willing to receive before He can fill them with the old time power.
Never, before Pentecost, had there been an instance wherein men, by the Spirit, had spoken in other languages which they had never learned.
There was absolutely no precedent by which to measure the experience. It was a new departure, a new dispensation, a new sign of the new seal.
It had, however, been prophesied both in the Old Testament and in the New. Isaiah, the twenty-eighth chapter and eleventh verse, prophesied concerning the coming of the Spirit:
“With stammering lips and another tongue will he speak to this people.” Jesus Himself had reiterated the prophecy and said KSwe last chapter of the Gospel according to St. ark:
“These signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues.”
The prophecy had been sounded; but the fulfillment had never been witnessed until the Day of Pentecost when, simultaneously with the incoming of the Spirit, they all began to speak with other tongues as the Spirit gave them utterance.
Remember, they did not speak of their own volition or knowledge. The Holy Spirit, Who had flamed His way direct from the heart of the Father, Himself gave them utterance.
This solemn fact seems to say: “Steady, Critic! Go slowly in criticizing the Holy Spirit and the Father Who sent Him.”
It is a glorious thought that the Lord so fills His vessels, that through lips of clay there overflows the eloquent adoration of the Lord in such heavenly manner that the song and praise of the saints is not only acceptable in His ears, but blends with the praises of the angels about the Throne.
The Virgin Mary spake in other tongues as the Spirit gave her utterance, as did the others; and it is difficult to conceive the Lord giving to her an experience which would be unbecoming for her own heart and lips!
It was the glorious outward sign of the inward work.
It was the overflow of the full bow] at the fountain.
When Babylon lifted up her heart in pride and rebellion, God had confounded her language and diversified it.
But when the believers humbled their hearts before the Lord and fell lowly before Him in unity and love, He took those same tongues of the nations, unified and employed them in the praises of His Name.
Jerusalem was rocked by the strange happenings in that Upper Room.
But did this power really last?
What of the happenings of the next chapter — the events of the next day — the effects thereof in the busy marts of life?