One afternoon, after church, I was chatting with a church member who was reflecting on her childhood upbringing at her church. In particular, she recalled with fondness a series of youth revival events called “Jesus Generation” that were held at her church. When she mentioned it, I wasn’t sure if she was punking me. I looked at her with a quizzical look, unsure if she knew my connection with those events.
I had started Jesus Generation (JG) in my senior year of high school with a friend of mine, Brandon, whose usual circle of friends had practically no overlap with mine. The idea was born in the aftermath of 9/11 (we went to school just a few blocks away from WTC so there was a profound effect upon our school community) and there was a noticeable level of spiritual searching going on. Brandon and I each had some friends who went to church, but they didn’t know each other. And we wanted to see them together, praying and worshiping together as we did — that was the original vision anyway. The church that ultimately hosted us was the church that this church member attended in her youth (we didn’t know each other at the time). My connection with Jesus Generation is as deep as it could go as she was recounting her memories.
When I realized that she wasn’t punking me, she continued on. She talked about how they were so formative for her in her early faith — not just for her, but her friends who attended the events with her. It was really encouraging to hear from her because she knew nothing of my personal connection to these events — she wasn’t sharing for me. She was just… sharing.
I should have been beaming, but there has always been a part of JG that I’ve always been embarrassed about. I was embarrassed by the fact that we had chosen a ministry theme verse completely out of context and had put it on… well… everything. I don’t expect most people to be embarrassed by it in the same way I was/am, so this may seem like an unnecessarily verbose explanation. But I’ll explain anyway.
/start/
This was the verse:
“Look at the nations and watch—
and be utterly amazed.
For I am going to do something in your days
that you would not believe,
even if you were told.
—Habakkuk 1:5 (NIV)
We were a couple of high school students who just wanted people to experience Jesus together. We had this dream that Jesus would bridge our respective social circles. In the language we used at the time, we wanted revival. And this verse… if someone had told us that our respective friend groups would be worshiping Jesus together, we wouldn’t have believed it. We would be “utterly amazed.” It seemed like a perfect verse.
But the context of this prophetic word from Habakkuk was not about revival; it was about judgment — all you needed to do was look at the next verse! This word was foreshadowing calamity not feel-good worship/revival vibes. In the church circles I was in, scriptural knowledge and application is highly valued. So, the embarrassment is that I should’ve known better.
/end/
But I didn’t write all this out to show my ignorance.
I am reflecting on this because, despite my biblical illiteracy and despite my naivete, God brought about good fruit. I know that this church member’s fond memories of JG, and the impact it had on their life, was not isolated. God does not require perfect (or even “good enough”) scriptural knowledge to accomplish his purposes.
As I reflect on JG, what sticks out to me after I get over myself for being wrong about Habakkuk is how much we prayed. We prayed a lot for our friends and we prayed a lot for our respective churches. We would meet and literally pray over every seat (we would literally walk seat to seat and pray). We wanted change to happen and, while it was not what we had originally envisioned (Brandon and I still maintained relatively distinct friend circles), God worked to impact the lives of others. He makes our efforts fruitful.
The lesson for myself is that God doesn’t require us to have things together to some minimum threshold before he brings about goodness from our efforts. He doesn’t (and we shouldn’t either) require perfect theological understanding. I confess that even as an M-Div educated and ordained minister in the church, there are parts of life and faith that I don’t expect to ever fully understand. The mystery of persons and relationships. The dynamics of neighborhoods and church communities. Even the gift of life itself. But understanding these things is not a prerequisite to living out a faith that gives life to others. I need to remember that God bears fruit out of anything we bring with good and humble hearts — hearts that can learn when corrected and hearts that are postured in need of his Spirit. Even in my best moments, what I offer to God is far from what is needed. He makes beauty from ashes.