JCK-at-large SITE

These days in Ottawa, people are talking cessation.  Enough already with all the racket, thousands of truckers descending on Parliament Hill with their big rigs, in peaceful protest against vaccine mandates.  ‘Peaceful protest’ does not always mean ‘quiet protest’ — especially on these, the coldest days of 2022 — with the “Freedom Convey.”  Mark Carney calls it ‘sedition’ and says it needs to end.  The mayor of the city calls it a ‘siege’ and declares a state of emergency.  The Prime Minister, when he rises to the occasion, calls it ‘frankly disgusting.’  Most everyone agrees — except for the truckers and their four lanes of supporters, that is — that this thing has to end.  It is time for cessation: to “case and desist.”

Of course, cessation is a loaded word.  And not just on the streets of Ottawa.  Indeed, cessation may be a lot easier to achieve in Ottawa than in the hallowed halls of the church. To be a cessationist theologically means to argue that tongues, miracles and supernatural manifestations ‘ceased’ with the apostolic age.  For example Leon Morris speaks as a cessationist when he says, “The early Church knew quite well what all these gifts were. They exulted in the exercise of them. But, in view of the fact they disappeared so speedily and so completely that we do not even know for certain exactly what they were, we must regard them as the gift of God for the time of the Church’s infancy.”  Not so, says Roger Stronstad, who would lean more toward the sensational than the cessational on this topic — along with a growing fraternity of current New Testament scholars.  These brethren argue that not only are the gifts alive and well today, but they are indispensable for Christian living and indeed for proper exegesis.  They join ranks with Clark Pinnock, who wrote: “We cannot consider Pentecostalism to be a kind of aberration born of experimental excesses but a 20th century revival of New Testament theology and religion. It has not only restored joy and power to the church but a clearer reading to the Bible as well.”

I met a fellow-traveler who had run into cessationism in Africa, of all places — where the church is rather very much inclined toward the sensational.  He had been upgrading his theological education.

“Good for you, it’s always the right time.”

“But I stopped. They were teaching that tongues and miracles ended with the apostles. But we have these gifts in our church!”  He proceeded to tell me of some wonderful prophecies and healings, including the medically-attested disappearance of a cancerous tumour, advanced and ‘terminal.’  It would be impossible to convince this man that the charismata had ceased.  Here was a “man with an experience,” to quote Ravenhill, and “never at the mercy of a man with an argument.”

Heavens, teaching cessation in Southern Africa is like coming out against surfing at Bondi Beach — while droves of aficionados file out of their Sydney neighbourhoods, boards dutifully under their arms, at the first sign of high surf.  According to a recent study by UNISA’s Chammah Kaunda, “In the early 1980s less than 5 per cent of Zambia’s Christian population embraced pentecostalism.  Yet only a decade later this grew to about 23.6 per cent …. If Charismatics in mainstream Christianity are included, over 50 per cent of Zambia’s population now subscribe to a Pentecostal-Charismatic form of spirituality.  Indeed, this form of pneumatic spirituality could be said to represent the character of Zambian Christianity.”   

Kaunda chronicles the shift over ten years: “In 1989 a pentecostal revolution took place, with hundreds of thousands of young people adopting its spirituality. It became nationalised, contextualised, popularised and a rapidly expanding phenomenon. With the declaration of Zambia as a Christian nation by President Chiluba in 1991, pentecostalism became unavoidable in its presence and political visibility.”

What this amounts to, says Kaunda, is , “the pentecostalisation of Zambian Christianity… Despite religious stereotypes and discriminations, it is indisputable that Zambian Christianity as a whole – comprising the Catholic, Anglican, Protestant and African Initiated Churches – has undergone a radical paradigm shift in the direction of pentecostalism… Pentecostal movements prescribe the orientation of national politics.” 

Kaunda cites Derek Mutungu, who leads the Sentinel Team in ministering to traditional Zambian leaders: “As Chiefs are forsaking the witchcraft rituals of their ancestors, they demand a new path of deep rooted spirituality… wanting to see the manifestation of presence of Christ in their chiefdoms.”  

But that is not the point, says the cessationist.  Just because pneumatic spirituality is rampant does not mean it is ‘right.’  Are we not aware of the extremes and excesses, spawned by the prophets of Nigeria? “This stuff resembles wild fire more than tongues of fire!”

And no doubt such observers have a point.  Kaunda himself notes that excesses and extremes are very much present: “Despite modernisation, many Zambians continue to turn to the spiritual realm for explanations for their misfortune and evil…. [while] traditional healing and prophetism … have lost credibility as a result of Christianity. Thus, the rise of prophetism within the framework of Christianity – is perceived by many as alternative ritual. 

“This prophetic revolution … is a movement of young people who become radicalised as prophets. Researchers have cautioned that youth unemployment and poverty are the perfect breeding ground for religious extremism. Prophetism, with its populism, excessive accumulatism and consumerism seems to function as a socio-political protest movement. The prophets often manipulate politicians and the masses through prophetic utterances which could be seen as a struggle to control national wealth.”

I often find myself among such youth and find it overblown to belabour the extremes of these new waves of pentecost among them.  Of course the gifts of the Spirit continue to be abused and misused, as they have since the days of the ancient Didache with its ‘Sayings of the Twelve’: “Every prophet who orders a meal in the Spirit eats not from it, except indeed he be a false prophet.  And every prophet who teaches the truth, if he do not what he teaches, is a false prophet.”  Such abuse is ever with us.  But I find African pentecostalism too sensational to be cessational.  

Our ‘SpIritual Emphasis Days’ opened 2022 with a ‘freedom convoy’ of its own — a week of guest ministry marked by the charismata, healings and prophecy in a most ‘sensational,’ and sacred, event.  Peter Sinkala, one our students, had always moved around the campus on crutches and was frequently absent due to his disability.  But powerful things were happening! The laying on of hands, the Great Physician at work — Peter’s crutches were gone, he was walking freely, a radiant and quite different young man!   

I like to be among a crowd of a thousand African worshipers, loudly fulfilling Paul’s desideratum, “I would that you all spoke in tongues.”  Such a cascade of charismatic worship rising up from a sea of united voices reminds me of “the sound of many waters” in Revelation.  I could wish such blessing upon the entire global church.“Tuvimos un terremoto,” says my Argentine friend, José Vena, of such a gathering in Buenos Aires, the church en masse gathered around the obelisco, feeling the ‘earth move under their feet.”  In the worship of classical Pentecost, tongues and interpretation reside with individuals.  This does not seem the African way. Here we have more like a corporate mix of ‘spiritual warfare’ and worship which engulfs an entire congregation.  In such a season, one senses that spiritual strongholds are crashing down. This grand chorus of ‘tongues of men and of angels’ seems to reach the gates of heaven.  If someone has a special word for the people, they may find their way in due course to share it publicly.  

Are we going to throw such a baby out with the bathwater because of ‘dangerous extremes?  Once people have moved from cessational to sensational — can anyone really expect them to go back??

I smile when I think of preaching cessation to my much loved grandmother, Agnes Cecelia, who came into Pentecost, almost by accident, in 1925.  Affectionately known as ‘Aggie’ by her friends, she had gotten off at the wrong bus stop in London, Ontario with my mother, Kay, a teenager at the time.  As it happened, a pentecostal tent meeting was going on nearby. Whatever strange fire was lit, they both came home very late.

Grandpa Alex, who was the organist at Hamilton Road Presbyterian, was waiting up.

“Where on earth have you been?” 

Grandma pulled out a hanky, so the story goes, broke into a bit of a Highland fling and sang a verse of “Bound for the Promised Land.”.  She had been immersed in Pentecost and there would be no turning back.  

Later, if you were to propose cessationism to Agnes Cecelia, I can see her taking a warm spoon out of her ever-present cup of tea.  She would lay it on your wrist, as she often did to me.  Her teasing eyes would sparkle and she would laugh. The warm spoon was all the answer she needed. 

And so, in the bleak mid-winter of ’22, as we raise the call for ‘cessation’ over the ruckus in Ottawa, and wish all the truckers godspeed on their way — let us by no means assume that the day of Pentecost ‘fully came and fully left.’ Indeed, let us pray for it “with the Spirit and with understanding.” Let us listen for the crash of spiritual strongholds as we do.  Convoy barricades included!   

Let us claim the great prophetic promise for the age of the Spirit: “I will show wonders in the heavens and on the earth.” 

(Quotes from Chammah Kaunda, “The Making of Pentecostal Zambia” and Roger Stronstad, “Pentecostal Experience and Hermeneutics”).