The Macedonian Call

By David Hobbs

Acts 16:9—During the night Paul had a vision of a man of Macedonia standing and begging him, “Come over to Macedonia and help us.” 10 After Paul had seen the vision, we got ready at once to leave for Macedonia, concluding that God had called us to preach the gospel to them.

I just returned from a road trip to some of the rural areas of Calif., handing out copies of my book Out of the Fire to fire stations, trying to get it placed in bookstores, and as is my custom, praying over churches in the towns I visit. There is usually nobody at the churches, but I pray and try to sense the leading of the Holy Spirit. At this one particular church, I really wanted to make contact with the pastor and I felt like tarrying on the premises until God sent someone.
After praying and singing in worship for about 45 min., sure enough a nice lady drove up--a member of the church. I told her about my book, why I was there, and my burden for the rural churches to experience revival and the moving of the Spirit like many churches in the cities were. She informed me that the pastor I was seeking was no longer there, and that the church had no pastor at present. She went on to tell me that many of the churches in town had no permanent pastor. (There was a denominational church where the denomination had decided not even to place a permanent pastor there anymore, but a pastor from a neighboring church would come and preach every week.) Furthermore, the attendance at all the churches (except the Catholic Church) was way down—her church had a weekly attendance of 35 average.
I felt such a burden for the dying churches in the town. I told her this was not God’s will; that He wanted to revive the churches and reach the lost through them. I felt like volunteering to take over a pastorless church and tell the people, “Come on, let’s pray-in revival!”
This morning I was back home pondering the situation and praying, “Lord how can I help these people?”
I felt the ever-gentle Holy Spirit remind me of the story from Acts that we refer to as the Macedonian Call. “You can’t do anything until there’s a Macedonian Call.”
I remembered a church in another rural town a year and a half ago. I had felt in my spirit like I needed to make a road trip to this town; I sensed there was someone praying, asking for help. When I got there with my son Daniel, the Lord led me right to a church where this pastor had just been praying to God, asking Him why he didn’t have anyone to help him in this difficult area, asking Him if anybody cared . . . basically throwing a spiritual pity party, but still crying out to God. That very morning we showed up saying we wanted to pray for him and his church. We spent a couple of hours in his office, praying for him and over him, prophesying over him (some of the same prophetic words he had gotten in seminary years ago) and encouraging him. At one point he was literally in tears because of the goodness and sovereignty of God sending us there in response to his cries.
But now the Holy Spirit was telling me, “Where’s the Macedonian call for help from this town? Yes the situation is critical, but who is burdened about it enough to cry out to Me for assistance? I can’t send you or anybody else until someone prays My burden back to Me for aid.”
I remembered the story of Moses being sent to deliver Egypt. It didn’t work until the people “groaned in their slavery and cried out.” Then “their cry for help because of their slavery went up to God.” After that, “God heard their groaning and he remembered his covenant with Abraham . . . . and was concerned about them.” [Exodus 2:23-24] The very next passage is God appearing to Moses in the burning bush and commissioning him to return to Egypt to deliver Israel.
God has all the resources we could possibly need. But in many cases He is waiting for us to partner with Him and pray them in.
Are we willing to humble ourselves and pray? Are we willing to seek God until the burden of the Holy Spirit falls on us and we can pray it back to God?

A Dream

By David Hobbs

Last Friday night I had a powerful dream, different from any I have had before. It came out of the blue. It’s been months, maybe years since I’ve had something I could even call a spiritual dream. It’s been so long I’d pretty much given up on God speaking to me that way. Like “falling down under the power,” it’s something that I expect to happen only to other people. So much for my expectations!
In the dream, the first thing I remember was that I was dead. My spirit had left my body, which was lying on the ground/floor with people clustered around it while my spirit hovered above. I don’t know how I died, or what led up to that moment, only that I was out of my dead body. After some time had passed, the next thing I remember was someone (an angel? the Holy Spirit?) telling me, “It’s time for you to go back into your body.”
I looked at my corpse and said, “How is that going to happen?”
“Just like this.”
He began spinning me like a top. All of a sudden, Zip! He spun me right back into my body.
Then I was in my bathroom looking at my face in the mirror. Though the eyes showed the face was alive, the rest of it still looked like death. It was all puffy and swollen and had purple splotches like how the blood coagulates in the skin of a dead person. I thought, “What are we going to do about this?” My wife happened to be in the bathroom with me getting ready to take a shower.
All of a sudden I was startled to see in the mirror behind me some young men standing, startled because young men shouldn’t be in the bathroom with my semi-clothed wife! I turned to look. There were five of them in all. They looked to be in their 20’s, big and strong like muscle builders. The most riveting thing about them was their smiles—they were grinning from ear to ear. They projected strength and confidence so much they practically glowed! I realized they were angels, though they didn’t have any wings.
Each one affixed a golden seal to the bathroom wall. I knew somehow that each seal contained the essence of the angel that affixed it; each one was leaving something of himself permanently attached to my wall. With that, I knew that my problem was taken care of (and who knows what else!). Then the dream was over.
I told the dream to one of the elders of my church who is gifted in dream interpretation. He gave the following interpretation:
"Five is the number of grace. The five angels affixing seals to the wall of your house means that you are about to receive a significant impartation of divine grace. It will be more than a gift you can use from time to time, rather it will be a permanent part of your life. Its power will be something you can use in the Kingdom to minister to others, and its effect will be as dramatic as life from the dead, as if you came back from death into life with new powers from beyond the grave!"

The Saturday Night Prayer Slot

By David Hobbs

In May of 2002 our church started a 24 hour prayer chain, of which I was asked to play a key role. We had done a similar prayer chain 8 years before, and I had prayed for an hour from 11-midnight on Thursdays for a year or so. But this time I wanted a longer block of time to get deeper into the Spirit and farther away from the world. The shallow, superficial, “go-to-meetings” brand of Christianity was leaving me unsatisfied. I decided 3 hours sounded long enough.
But where to find a three hour block of time? The nighttime seemed to be the only answer in our busy lifestyles. (Even my weekends were often busier than the weekdays). But which night? And how could I adjust to losing that much sleep in a night and still go on with life? The only practical answer was Saturday night. I could sleep in Sunday morning and recover from the sleep deficit. And Saturday night was in the middle of the weekend so my mind would not be consumed with business cares like it was going to church Wednesday night. And as an added bonus, it would come soon after Saturday night service, when I should still be infused with a measure of the Spirit. So I picked the Saurday night slot from 2-5 in the morning (technically Sunday morn.)
Now, where to pray? When it started out, it was still spring and cool at night, so I prayed at my house, lighting a bunch of candles for atmosphere. Fortunately, our house is arranged in such a way you can walk in a circle through the main rooms, important for staying awake at night.
I found that 3 hours was long enough to go through cycles in prayer: like there might be a time of repentance and sorrow for sin, a time of praise and singing, a time of deep worship, and then still time for some fervent intercession. You could cover a lot of ground in 3 hours!
But the house gradually became inadequate: it was too small and developed too much “sameness” about it. Also I had to be mindful of others sleeping, so I could only be so loud.
Next I moved to the railroad bridge outside of town, one of my favorite prayer spots for years. It was well away from humanity, there was plenty of room to walk, and the ever changing train schedule made each night different. I had some wonderful times of prayer in my 3 hour slots out there.
The main problem with the bridge was the intimidating power of the darkness. It just didn’t feel right to raise my voice. I could sing softly, worship and pray, but it was difficult to shout or declare or preach! And of course I couldn’t read the Bible either out loud or to myself. Also the weather was not always favorable. On the bridge I was exposed to the wind, which even on a summer’s night could be brisk. Some still summer evenings were perfect! But it was hard to be so at the mercy of the weather.
The final option was out at the church. Marcine had a key from her job as janitor there, and I made sure it was all right if I prayed out there. But I only wanted to be there at night if it was with someone else; being in the big church at night alone was too scary for me. The building was so big you couldn’t necessarily know, being in one part, what might be going on in another. (Hence a feeling of not being in control!)
At first I had no trouble getting people to pray out there with me, even in the middle of the night, getting up to seven people one night! But as time wore on it got harder and harder. For awhile, if I couldn’t get anyone to pray with me I would pray at the tracks or at home if the weather was bad. But then there would be times people would say they would come and not show up, or maybe only give a tentative commitment in the first place. I wouldn’t know when, or even if they would come. I had to face down my own fears of praying alone in the church.
Once I faced them squarely and overcame them, it ceased being a problem, and in fact became a delight. There were times I would have to confront fear, like when strange sounds were heard, or walking into a dark room. But I always locked the door after me so no one could wander in unannounced (Satan’s whole strategy is to make us afraid, to cause a fear reaction that he can take and plunge into our spirit like a spear and create an opening that he can continue to exploit every time we’re in fearful situations. I still have to be on guard when praying alone in the church at night, but not against what might happen, rather against fear itself. When I sense fear trying to rise up in me, I respond with a barrage of tongues and don’t give in to it.
The church really was the perfect place. I could be as loud as I wanted to be: read, pray, sing, walk, dance . . . . (And the prayer chain continued for about 4 years before it finally petered out.) Once I arrived at the point of being comfortable praying alone in the church at night, I had by far my greatest experiences in the Lord, some of which I will now relate.