It has long been my contention that the rampant skepticism about all things supernatural among the Reformed crowd is driven more by modernist assumptions than it is exegesis. We’re in a bit of a pickle, wanting to be true to God’s Word, and to be respectable in the eyes of the world. We affirm inerrancy but nuance our way out of the plain meaning of Genesis 1 and 2, so we don’t end up looking like those tacky fundamentalists. We agree that Jesus cast out demons, but deny demons have any dealings with humans in our day, so we don’t look like those nutty spiritual warriors. We affirm that God hears our prayers, but deny He ever actually does anything truly amazing for us, lest we look like those big haired televangelists.
I’m no fan at all of Kenneth Copeland. Everything I know about his theology I learned decades ago reading The Agony of Deceit, an expose on the heretical theology of most of our television preachers put together by my friend Dr. Michael Horton. An outstanding book, by the way. I confess as well to having my own doubts when a. Copeland seems to suggest he has the power to divert hurricanes and/or b. claims to have diverted a hurricane. Skepticism and its kissing cousin cynicism are my natural habitat after all.
Which is why God is working on me, and doing something even more astounding than diverting a hurricane- sanctifying me. He reminded me that there was a profound disconnect between my faith that He commands the wind and the waves and my disdain at the notion that a man’s prayers could stop a hurricane dead in its tracks. He showed me the ugliness of my sneering scorn and His call to godliness, to faith, to believing He delights not only to hear the prayers of His children, but to answer them.
This world does not belong to the scientists, the weather experts, nor to the scornful. Rather it belongs to the one who speaks, and reality happens., who not only blows the winds of hurricanes, but throws the swirling tumult of galaxies. And He has promised that He will give it to the trusting, the humble, that the meek will inherit the earth.
We ought to pray with all the innocence of children, asking our Father to quell storms, to heal bodies ravaged by illness, to make it snow in August, to end every war and to fill every hungry belly. And let us do so with no shame, no blushing, no crossed fingers to prove to the cool kids we’re still with it. Let us rise up out of the seat of the scornful. Let us be planted by the rivers of water, our roots reaching so deep into the good soil that not even the greatest storm, should He determine such should come our way, can move us. Let us bring forth the fruit of faith. Let us ask that He will prosper whatsoever we do.