Read Chapter 18

A regular at the Lord’s secret counsel, i.e., His intimate presence (Jeremiah 23:22), I have another vision that I want to share with you. It occurred when I took some time off the South American mission field and flew back to the States to attend a church leadership and missions conference called God’s Righteous Congress. After sliding into a physical, emotional, and spiritual burnout from my jungle endeavors, I was earnestly looking forward to the homespun spiritual refreshing and encouragement (and the breakfast, lunch, and dinner buffets) that had been promoted by the symposium organizers. Nevertheless, I guess I had been living amongst primitive tribal peoples for so long that I forgot about U.S. Christian conference dress protocol, and I showed up for the opening session in shorts (it was summer, after all) and a tee shirt. And that’s when the holy meeting turned into an unholy beating. My short pants and Jesus-promoting top (“Jesus—a Knight in shining armor. Let Him save you from your distress!” it said) were the nicest ones I had, but evidently they weren’t nice enough.

As I entered what should have been called Man’s Pretentious Regress, I felt as if I had suddenly become the center of attention, because, well, I had. Nearly every eye in that place was glued on me, and I got some head-to-toe looks that made me think I was stark naked for a second. Yikes! Did I leave my hotel room this morning without any clothes on? I panicked as a finely dressed woman gasped, pointed fearfully at me, and shook her head with such expressive disdain that her headdress of a hat fell off. When I looked down at my body, however, I was fully clothed. Even the zipper on my short pants was up. At first, I couldn’t figure out what was happening; but as I began milling about, the Holy Spirit clued me in to the error of my way. Terribly underdressed, I was an apparel infidel, a raiment rebel, a duds dissenter—a full-time minister who wasn’t following full-time ministry fashion traditions and convention. How dare I!

Likewise, while mingling naively with the stylish crowd, I increasingly felt like the last-place contender in some sort of intense ministerial posturing competition. “Excuse me, I can’t talk to you right now. Uh…umm…I-I’ve g-got to go and speak with…Reverend Apostle Johnson!” a dapper gentleman stammered and then fled my substandard, unsuitable (unsuitedable?) company.

“I need to rejoin the senior pastor of our 5,600-member church,” another dandified chap pooh-poohed as he withdrew from my unseemly (unseamly?) fellowship. “I’m the lead associate pastor, you see, and he’s expecting me to breakfast with him.”

Indeed, although I eagerly tried to strike up a conversation with many of the attendees, my impoverished attire seemed to forbid reception into the ongoing professional alliance, as I was snubbed and sniffed time after time. I had a hard time figuring that one out, for I was certain those religious professionals didn’t wear such finery back on their foreign mission fields or in their home churches. Or did they?

But the more I walked around and listened to the attendees chit and chat, the more I realized that they were all merely trying to put their best foot forward and gain a little well-merited honor. After all, they were hard-working leaders, missionaries, and full-time ministry laborers (no part-timers or lay-timers were allowed in that conference), and they deserved to be acknowledged. Conversely, speaking to a seemingly undistinguished and unknown novice like me for any length of time would have caused them to lose some of that sought-after—and sometimes fought-after—recognition. I surely didn’t look important in my khaki shorts and white tee shirt, and who in their right mind wanted to be associated with the lowly and inconsequential during such a pivotal and career-boosting event? Yes, it was time to position; it was time to rub shoulders. And it certainly wasn’t time for the divine to consort with the paltry.

To add to my detriment, right after entering the meeting I lost my registration badge, which clearly stated that I was Missionary Reverend Herman Smith, so I was unable to substantiate my conference worthiness. Looking me up and down, one finely dressed gent actually asked me if I was a “laynaif” who had accidentally stumbled into the wrong meeting. “Humph! It’s time you either show me your badge or leave!” he responded condescendingly to my request for the correct time.

Consequently, after becoming weary of chasing down an elusive acceptable persona (and after my second trip to the breakfast buffet), I gave up trying to converse with the others and galumphed up to the second floor of that five-star hotel lobby so I could watch the many conference attendees hobnob and nobhob. From my prime vantage point, it looked as if an older man clad in a white suit and gold tie was winning the religious rivalry; nevertheless, a woman clothed in a silky red dress was just about to pass him on Track Status. My bet, though, was on the young man in the blue cashmere suit. His gold Rolex watch, two diamond rings, and oversized diamond bracelet were definitely increasing his odds of winning the Distinction Derby. “It took ten weeks of offerings to pay for these darlings!” he crowed, lifting his arms in the air so all could view his takings.

“Ooh…” a few bedazzled bystanders marveled.

To be sure, the ingenious manner in which the dandy used his embellishment to jockey for position made me swoon with admiration. Kudos to his swanky showmanship! Kudos to his practiced exhibitionism! He must be in the topmost spiritual echelon of the Lord’s holy Church, I surmised as his bracelet caught the glare of the chandelier above him and propelled a bright ray of light into my idolizing eyes. As a result, I was blinded for some time.

After regaining a little of my sight, however, I noticed a small—and very seductive, mind you—clothing store on that second floor lobby, so I took up the chase for approval and prestige once again and went in to see what was available in men’s clothing. Fortunately, they had a small selection of suits, and I was able to find a black Armani piece that looked classy. Thus, having saved enough over the past five years on the mission field to buy it, I proceeded to do just that. Dressing appropriately for the rest of the conference is probably a good idea if I want to be a part of all the important spiritual business that’s going on here. After all, conformity and tradition, and a little healthy, well-dressed competition, are just part of life in the stateside, and much of the foreignside, full-time ministry. And I certainly don’t want to be mistaken for a laynaif again, or miss this afternoon’s teaching, Tactical Approaches to Enlarging the Offering, I told myself as I handed the clerk most of my savings, also purchasing a flashy cubic zirconia ring, a silk tie, a purple shirt, and a pair of new shoes to round out my hopefully distinctive outfit.

With that, I brought my new weapons of favor and acceptance back to my room, and as I was dressing (okay, I was really costuming for the Positioning Promenade, and I knew it), the Holy Spirit began ministering to me very powerfully. At first I thought, God sure must like this Armani ensemble, but as His anointing increased, I knew my suit wasn’t His real interest. No, He was interested in what was going on in my heart. I had a hard time standing there in my hotel bathroom as Holy Ghost waves of power washed over me one right after another, and before long the Paraclete laid me out on that linoleum lavatory floor. (My head was positioned right next to the toilet—thanks, Lord.) Then, the loving Ghost took me on another unusual journey. But get ready—this vision, trance, dream, or whatever you might call it will really mess you up. Hey, but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?