Blog - Page 53 of 185

One digit that can change and transform your life

Word on the street is that God is doing a new thing; apparently, there is what has been termed “a silent revival” underway, with people (mostly young men, it seems) coming spontaneously to church and becoming Christians. I think it’s true; I’ve heard it first-hand from a church plant in London that has grown to around 600 and expects to double in size this year.

The hand of God is on our nation, and perhaps you can relate.

Having said that, God visits us with measured omnipotence – it’s one thing to know the hand of God is on your life – to sense His guidance, His protection, His favour, but have you ever considered what happens when it’s just His finger? One touch. One deliberate moment. And it’s not something you’re waiting for – it’s already happening. For those who are in Christ, the touch of God is not a distant hope but a present and personal reality, reshaping your story even now.

On tablets of plastic and glass, we swipe, we click, we tap with a finger – casual, instinctive movements, but when God moves His finger, He doesn’t scroll by. He intervenes. He transforms. He delivers. He disciplines. He raises the lowly and brings down the proud. One touch from Him – and everything changes: mountains are levelled, the ground shakes, enemies are silenced and defeated, and the dead – the dead come to life.

Jacob personally discovered this in the dark. By the River Jabbok, alone and vulnerable, he was tackled by a stranger – but not just any man. The preincarnate Christ came not to speak softly, but to wrestle Jacob into surrender. It was no performance. This was bruising, breathless, real.

Why would God come this way? To destroy Jacob? Not at all. A single touch to his hip ended any illusion of equality. God’s intent was not to defeat him but to define him — to bring him to the end of himself and name him anew. “And Jacob was left alone. And a man wrestled with him until the breaking of the day” (Genesis 32:2). One divine touch, and the deceiver was renamed Israel — marked by mercy, limping into his future with a promise he could no longer steal, only receive.

Later, in Egypt, Pharaoh’s magicians watched their power unravel and declared, “This is the finger of God” (Exodus 8:19). Even they knew – God was here, and He wasn’t to be mocked. And in Babylon, King Belshazzar watched a hand appear, writing on the wall. The finger of God brought judgment: “You have been weighed… and found wanting” (Daniel 5:27). The finger of God brings warning as well as wonder.

And then Jesus – God in flesh – stoops to the ground and writes with His finger in the dirt (John 8:6). A woman, caught in adultery, stood before Him in silence. Her shame was public. But Jesus did not join the accusers. One finger, writing in the dust, one moment of mystery, and they dropped their stones. The woman met mercy, but there was a man too, who we don’t hear about, involved in the same sin, who disappeared into the shadows, untouched, unmoved, unchanged. He missed the finger of God.

The same finger once etched the Law into stone (Exodus 31:18), calling for righteousness. But now, through the gospel, that same God touches hearts. The gospel is the finger of God – pointing us not to guilt, but to grace. It calls us to forgiveness, to reconciliation, to redemption. It removes shame, cancels blame, and ends the cycle of condemnation. It touches us not to crush us, but to make us holy, blameless, alive before Him.

So what has God put His finger on in your life? A habit? A hurt? A hidden place? He does not point to expose you for shame – He points so that He might heal. His touch is firm, but never cruel. His finger leads us to repentance, yes – but always unto life.

And at the cross, we see the full measure of that touch – not merely a finger in the dust or a hand writing on a wall, but arms stretched wide, hands pierced through. The God who wrestled Jacob, who judged kings, who freed the shamed now calls your name. Not with condemnation, but with compassion. Not with wrath, but with redeeming grace.

So much for the finger of God — just one touch… but for you, what is God touching, pointing to, or perhaps where do you need Him to place His omnipotent finger? Is it a habit, an opportunity, or a fresh work of grace? As always, come with faith, conviction, obedience, and hunger for God, and His finger will surely — and gently — touch you. And when He does, nothing will ever be the same again.

What are you saying?

Becoming a Christian in 1979, in an evangelistic fervour where signs and wonders, healings and miracles were prevalent, accompanied frequently by tongues, either in prayer or in public settings with interpretation, as I did, meant that you inherited a high value of the things of the Spirit.

I think we are missing something, especially when I listen to the silent prayers in some of the prayer meetings I have attended in recent years! Some of the gatherings just lacked what we call in Yorkshire, “oomph”, life.

What of it? There is a language the Spirit speaks, and it does not bend to human grammar or bow to intellectual pride. It’s the language of heaven. Raw. Divine. Unfiltered. It’s expressed through humans by the Holy Spirit. It builds. It lifts. It strengthens, blesses, honours and speaks of mysteries, not the obvious or ‘stuff’ you could make up. And what flows from it? A deepened awareness of the Spirit’s presence, His power, His intervention.

Speaking in tongues, glossolalia, has long stood as one of the most misunderstood and marginalised gifts in the Church, and yet it is the most accessible. For some, it’s a relic. For others, a curiosity. But it is neither. It is a provision, God’s own strategy for sustaining and empowering His people in days like these, building and encouraging His people. And we are neglecting it at our peril.

Pentecost is our starting point. The Spirit fell, not as a theological footnote, but with fire. And tongues, unlearned, unexpected, uncontainable, were the first sign. It’s not what they expected! Acts 2 isn’t nostalgia; it’s blueprint. And in 1 Corinthians 14, Paul doesn’t relegate tongues to the fringe. He lays out its necessity, private and public. “The one who speaks in a tongue speaks not to men but to God,” Paul writes, “for no one understands him, but he utters mysteries in the Spirit” (1 Corinthians 14:2). And again, “I thank God that I speak in tongues more than all of you” (v. 18).

Whilst some with far less theological understanding, influence and legacy than Paul may have a different opinion, Paul doesn’t treat this gift as optional. He treats it as vital; it builds up the inner life (v. 4), aids prayer when words fail (Romans 8:26), and it opens up channels of communion that the intellect cannot unlock. This is not spiritual flair; it’s spiritual warfare, and Paul is on it.

God’s handing back what He never snatched; His gifts were never off the table.

Tongues is not the only gift, but its neglect has had devastating effects. Like prophecy, healing, discernment, words of knowledge, and faith, tongues is part of the Spirit’s strategy to strengthen the Church. In private, it renews. In public, when interpreted, it reveals, convicts, and strengthens. This isn’t spiritual theatre. This is God’s wisdom.

Yet somehow, we’ve side-lined it. I know a charismatic church that has had just one public tongue in the past year. That silence is not harmless; it is costly. It’s a mute button on part of the Church’s spiritual engine room of its engagement with the manifest presence of God. Yes, “especially prophecy”, “the one who prophesies is greater than the one who speaks in tongues, unless someone interprets, so that the church may be built up” (1 Corinthians 14:5), but not to the neglect of tongues?

Why has it been relegated? Partly, the lingering shadow of cessationism, where the unmeasurable is dismissed as emotionalism, and partly, a misunderstanding of the sufficiency of Scripture, as if the presence of the Bible excludes the presence of power. In many Reformed and evangelical circles, the supernatural was trimmed out for the sake of theological control or because it was inconvenient. Doctrine became the main dish served as lectures, but powerful encounter with the things of the Spirit was cleared from the table. Doctrine deserves to be on the ‘top table’, but doctrine will also have the gifts of the Spirit in highest honour, sat with it.

Then, I suppose, came the abuses: chaotic displays, pressure-laced meetings, tongues without interpretation, and many church leaders, wary of wildfire, settled for no fire. But that decision came at a cost. Without the fire, the Church cooled. And with it, her prayers weakened. We do well to consider that sometimes life has a little mess in it, which can be cleaned and cleared up: “Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean, but abundant crops come by the strength of the ox.” (Proverbs 14:4)

The gifts were never repossessed, just rarely claimed.

And still, through all the suspicion and silence, the Spirit kept moving. Tertullian and Irenaeus spoke of tongues and prophecy in the early Church, not as fringe, but as familiar. Tongues appeared in the fires of Moravian prayer meetings, lingered in Wesley’s journals, and then burst through again at Azusa Street. William Seymour, one-eyed and Spirit-filled, didn’t seek drama. He sought God. And tongues followed, not as gimmick, but as a gateway.

Evangelists like Smith Wigglesworth prayed in tongues daily. He credited this communion with boldness, clarity, healing. Maria Woodworth-Etter called it ‘consecration in sound’. These pioneers weren’t chasing experiences; they were anchored in intimacy. Tongues was the overflow.

He never revoked the gifts; He’s just waiting for us to unwrap them.

And now here we are, walking through a world trembling with unrest. Wars and rumours of war, nations shaking, institutions faltering, culture fragmenting. The Church is being sifted, purified, and if ever there was a time to recover what we’ve lost, it is now.

We’re not in a season that will be survived on intellect alone. The battle before us demands power. Not performance, not hype, but power. And tongues is part of the provision; it is not merely helpful, it is essential.

Your challenge is that your hesitancy does not disqualify you. It simply means you need encouraging, not shaming. God is not trying to trap you or make you feel like a lemon. He’s not like that. He’s inviting you into something deeper. The gift is not about noise, it’s about nurture. It is God meeting your weakness with His strength.

You can’t lose what He never recalled. The gifts still stand.

Paul gives us wisdom. In public, speaking aloud (and allowed), tongues in public must be interpreted, not silenced. Keep them coming, two or three per meeting at times, but rarely none. Interpretation makes the gift fruitful, not dangerous. Without it, people are confused. With it, the Church is built. In private, the rules are different; there, tongues becomes a direct line, Spirit to spirit. Both expressions matter. Both have their place. Both restore awe to our gatherings and depth to our prayers.

He didn’t pull the plug; He’s still powering the same gifts, same Spirit.

To recover tongues, we must recover its value. Reach for it. Teach it. Not as fringe, but as family. Wherever we are and whenever, no matter our circumstance, we need to encourage one another what this gift does: it strengthens, it reveals, it sustains.

Paul never said, “Use caution around tongues.” He said, “Do not forbid speaking in tongues” (1 Corinthians 14:39). That command includes the command to encourage it. And when we stay silent, we disobey by omission.

He didn’t recall the gifts; we just forgot where we left them.

So make space. In gatherings, create room for this gift to move. Not with hype. Not with pressure. Just with invitation. Invite those who hunger for it to ask, without shame, without anxiety. Encourage its private use. And in the public assembly, make room for tongues with interpretation, according to Paul’s own words: clarity, order, edification.

We’re not trying to recreate Pentecost. We’re recognising that the Spirit who came at Pentecost is still here. Still ready. Still willing.

Across the world, a quiet revival is taking root. In homes. In coffee shops. In prayer rooms. And tongues is returning, not as spectacle, but as secret strength.

So if we want to see the Church walk in power again, we must help her find her voice again, and sometimes that voice won’t sound like English or Hebrew or Greek. Sometimes it will sound like heaven: raw, holy, unlearned, but unmistakably divine.

That is the gift. God’s not done giving; we’re just late unwrapping.

And now is the time to receive it again.