Shhh!

Shh

This one’s about tongues.

ShhThis will be a bit controversial, a little close to the edge. I’ve rewritten it a few times in part trying to avoid any hint of passive legalism. My only agenda is ultimately to say, “let’s make some noise!” And we should.

It’s a strange thing, how the very gifts God gives to build us up can become the ones we quietly side-line. Tongues, for me, was the first supernatural encounter I had when I discovered that God was alive and well on planet Earth and wanted me to follow Him, decades ago. It simply amazed me – and still does. When I first started to speak in tongues, I’d wake in the night and pray in tongues – just to make sure it was still there. That it hadn’t slipped away.

These days, in some places, tongues seem to have found their way into the church’s “fragile items” cupboard. Wrapped in bubble wrap. Labelled “handle with care.” As though Paul never said what he said, or as though the Spirit might embarrass us if left unsupervised.

Now, I’m not speaking of extremes here. This isn’t about losing control or throwing words like confetti into the void. But neither am I tiptoeing around the plain witness of Scripture: tongues are a gift. A good one. A necessary one. Not just for a few fiery or eccentric individuals in remote corners of the globe. The whole church can be edified when this vocal, not silent, gift is given room. The whole body encouraged. If only we weren’t so careful.

I’m not asking whether we’ve become anti-charismatic. No, that’s too easy to deny – and we should. What I’m asking is whether we’ve become selective charismatics. Tongues, prophecy, healing… we like them at conferences accompanied by the ‘big worship’, or tucked away in prayer rooms where the volume’s low and the lights are dim. But in the gathered church, where the unsaved might be listening, where the structure must be honoured and the clock is ticking – do we really want the Spirit to speak? Or are we hoping He waits until the Zoom livestream ends? It’s a rhetorical question; we do want the Holy Spirit to have His way, it’s all we truly want.

Paul, writing to Corinth, didn’t once treat tongues as a novelty. He treated it as normal. Grounded. Positive. A help for prayer, a gift for praise, a mystery that blesses both the speaker and the One to whom the praise is directed. “The one who speaks in a tongue speaks not to men but to God” (1 Corinthians 14:2, ESV). That alone ought to sober us. We might label tongues as optional, unimportant, or at best, a bonus round for the hyper-spiritual, but Paul would shake his head. Speaking in tongues is a way of giving thanks. A way of blessing God. A way of being built up in the inner man.

Some will argue that Paul prioritised intelligibility in the gathered church. That’s true, but intelligibility is not the same as silence. It’s not a call to strip the church of the very gifts Christ ascended to give. It’s a call to steward them rightly, not shelve them completely. I wonder, have we become so academic, postmodern, and polished that tongues now feel like something from a bygone era, real but rarely relevant? Personally I don’t think so, but we’d do well to keep an eye on the road.

I’m just three steps away from Azusa Street which is why I have a high value on the baptism of the Spirit. I’ve prayed in tongues in deserts and forests (literally) in cities I couldn’t pronounce and airports rammed with busyness. I’ve whispered mysteries to God in places where the gospel has no pulpit. In mosques, in the homes of imams. On flights. On roads in India and Lebanon lined with shrines and strange things. Not as some charismatic badge of honour, but because I value what it does. When words fail – and they often do – He does not.

The truth is, we’re not just teaching people how to behave in church anymore. We’re often teaching them which parts of the Spirit they’re allowed – or encouraged – to access. We can unintentionally disciple them into a kind of safety. A kind of respectability. A faith that fits nicely inside a well-designed service order. And the result? An honourable church, perhaps. But a malnourished one.

I’m raising a question that comes to mind as I look at life in some churches across the UK. A quiet thought: “guys – come on!” Are we making room for the gifts of the Spirit, or are we storing them like heirlooms from a previous generation? If the early church, in the thick of persecution and rapid growth, needed tongues to pray when words ran dry, to praise in the midst of suffering, and to build up their weary souls – what makes us think we don’t?

If my life was on the edge and the grim reaper lurking in the shadows I’d rather hear people calling out to God on my behalf, audibly, certainly in tongues, than listen to the sound of silence! Other Simon & Garfunkel songs are available.

This isn’t a call to chaos. It’s a call to courage. The kind of courage that trusts the Spirit knows what He’s doing. The kind that believes the cross didn’t just forgive us – it filled us. And that fullness still speaks.

Even in tongues.

You Don’t Want Asa’s promise.

His covenant was fragile, yours is unbreakable.

One promise or another

2 Chronicles 15:2 is one of those scriptures that you might be tempted to seize and run with, without considering the implications of it. On the surface it looks good. Its context begins with a prophetic figure, Azariah, approaching King Asa carefully with what some of us may potentially see as a tremendous prophetic word, “The Lord is with you while you are with him. If you seek him, he will be found by you, but if you forsake him, he will forsake you.”

Brilliant promise for a rainy day? It’s almost like a spiritual special-offer transaction – seek God and He’ll bless you, neglect Him and He’ll walk away. It’s a sober, conditional prophecy that was spoken directly into the unique moment of Asa’s reign, under the Old Covenant, with all its blessings and curses tied to Israel’s national obedience; to what they said, did and did not do. That isn’t a promise written with your name on it. Think about 2 Chronicles 7:14 as well; great promise for ‘them’, but we have better promises.

Don’t misunderstand this, God hasn’t changed. He still desires His people to walk closely with Him. He still calls us to seek His face, but the way He relates to us under the New Covenant is very different. Chalk and cheese. The brilliant news is that our standing with Him isn’t fragile, hanging on whether we perform well enough this week, instead, it’s anchored in Christ’s finished, completed work.

You may very well be thinking about a New Testament variation such as James 4:8, which on the face of it seems to be carrying the same weight of promise and hope: “Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.” At first glance, it almost echoes what Asa once heard from the prophet – as if that is where James got it from! Thankfully the gospel pulls the curtain back and shines light into it revealing to us that we don’t have it in us to just decide one day, “I’ll get close to God now, today, this afternoon…” Paul explains in Ephesians 2, “we were dead in our trespasses and sins.” Dead as a parrot. Not weak, not limping along – stone dead. Dead people don’t seek God, don’t respond to God, don’t draw near to God.

So how can James tell us to draw near? Because the first move, the great initiative, was God’s, not ours. He drew near to us in Christ. He broke into our graveyard and made us alive together with Him. By grace He turned our cold, dead, stone hearts into living ones, actually able to say yes. That’s the difference. We don’t draw near to earn His nearness. We draw near because He has already drawn near, and He won’t let go. And He is omnipotent.

Let me put this in plain sight. God isn’t standing at a distance waiting for you to muster up enough hunger, energy and motivation to crawl toward Him; even though you don’t know where He is. Instead, He has run out to meet you, like the father in Luke 15, and He has clothed you in Christ. He has put His Spirit in you, crying out, “Abba, Father.” That’s not the relationship Asa had. Not at all. That’s not the Old Covenant set-up of “if you do well, blessing; if you forsake, curse.” This here is full-blown adoption. Sons and daughters brought into the family for good.

And here’s where audacity parachutes in. The gospel doesn’t just say you can come relatively near. It commands you to come near boldly. Hebrews 4:16 says, “Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace.” Confidence, not fear. Boldness, not trembling at the edge. Why? Because Jesus has opened the way. He always wants you near, not tolerating you at the edge of His camp, but pulling you into His very presence to enjoy Him forever.

Take James 4:8 seriously. Draw near, but do so knowing the foundation is secure. The King has already thrown open the door. He has already bent down to lift your face and embrace you. The nearness you enjoy now isn’t temporary, it isn’t shaky, it isn’t tied to your best attempt at faithfulness. It’s guaranteed by Christ, sealed by the Spirit, and desired by the Father.

2 Chronicles 15:2 was a conditional warning for Asa. James 4:8 is an invitation backed by the gospel, and behind it all stands a God who has already moved heaven and earth to bring you close. That’s not fragile. That’s forever.