Sonship

On my first visit to Bethel in Redding, I was wrecked. As a Vineyard pastor, I had seen it, done it, and bought the t-shirt. While waiting in line to register I stood beside a woman and her 13-year-old daughter. This mother proceeded to tell everyone that she was Catholic and had only a few months to live but God had told her to come to this conference where she would be healed. I stood beside her, full of the faith of a different kingdom and thought, ‘You silly woman. It is people like me that will have to deal with your daughter and the disappointment over this. The Kingdom is largely not-yet so please don’t build false hope and expectation into your daughter.’ A few nights later, this woman was healed and I later learned that she had an all-clear report from her doctor and that on the way home, her daughter led a man to Jesus at the airport. Pretty impressive, but all of that was not what struck me the most. It certainly brought back to life that deep desire for the miraculous… but I knew during my one week in Redding that this thing called Bethel was more than miracles, it was family.

On the last evening, I took my seat and a feather fell from seemingly nowhere. One person got up to grab it and what appeared to be a Bethel member told the apparent visitor not to fuss, that these things happen all the time. Shortly after, an older man, probably in his 70’s sat in front of me and began introducing his son to his Bethel community. His son looked like he was on cold turkey from drugs or alcohol and looked rough. His clothes were old but clean and had seen much better days but his father paraded his awkward son in front of everyone as if he were a Prince. After worship came the obligatory greet your neighbor. A component of worship services that as an introvert, I dread. I stood up and the aforementioned father turned around and hugged me. I started the hug and as a good pastor, after a few seconds I did the tap on the back to indicate I was done but this older man was NOT done. He kept hugging me and at that moment, I broke. I wept on his shoulder for what seemed like an eternity. The thing I remember was that he never broke the hug. This man, probably 8 inches shorter than me and half my weight held on to me like I meant everything to him. He was not crying, he was smiling and I wept like a baby. Everyone else had sat down and here I was weeping uncontrollably on the shoulders of a stranger.

My earthy father died when I was 11 and I never got to say goodbye. I never heard the words that he was proud of me and I don’t remember him ever telling me that he loved me. This wound of losing my father has haunted me most of my days and here in a moment I was held by a father who wanted to hold me.

My take away that week was sonship. The only book I bought from the bookstore was by Jack Frost, Spiritual Slavery to Spiritual Sonship. Jack had spoken at our church once and it had gone in one ear and out the other. I had heard him speak at Toronto Airport Christian Fellowship, now Catch The Fire Toronto and found him engaging but not earth shattering. His message of a loving heavenly Father was great but this message of sonship wrecked me. Something connected with me that the path to a life in the Kingdom, that this seeking first the Kingdom could only be done by those who have a spirit of Adoption rather than an orphan spirit. It would never have happened had it not been for an old man, proud of his wounded son who did not let go of me.

Have you encountered this message of sonship? How did you first respond, what was it that engaged you? I would love to hear your story.

Ian