Stop talking about it, just do it—pray.  [Take three after ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ and ‘Humility and the Holy Spirit are in the House’]

Jim Cymbala, pastor of the Brooklyn Tabernacle, recounted it like it was yesterday:  ‘I had been told two members from the church brought a teenager to the prayer meeting who, they said, was on drugs, and needed to be delivered.

About a half hour into the meeting, after we had been worshiping for a while, I said, “There’s a girl here who’s been brought by some members, and they’d like her to be prayed for; she’s hooked on drugs.”

  These members began walking toward the front with a short Hispanic girl.  She seemed in a daze—the effect of drugs, I assumed.  Her name was Diana.

  I was standing, as I usually do on Tuesday nights, on the ground level with the people, at the head of the center aisle.  All of a sudden, I began to tense up; alarm bells seemed to be going off in my spirit signifying that something was wrong—something was about to happen . . . “O Jesus, help us,” I said quietly.

  Like a shot, the mention of Jesus’ name brought an explosion of rage and screaming.  The five-foot-one-inch girl lunged for my throat, throwing back the two friends who had guided her up the aisle.  Before I knew what was happening, I had been body-slammed against the front edge of the platform.  Diana ripped the collar right off my white shirt as if it were a piece of tissue.  A hideous voice from deep inside her began to scream, “You’ll never have her!  She’s ours!  Get away from her!”  The language then turned obscene. 

  Some in the congregation stood and began to pray aloud.  Others gasped.  Some covered their eyes.  Meanwhile, several deacons jumped up and tried to pull her off of me.  Despite her size, she fought all of us with tremendous strength.

  We finally managed to subdue her…I leaned over the girl to address the spirits: “Shut up!  In the name of Jesus, come out of her!”  I demanded. 

  Diana’s eyes rolled back in her head, and twice she spit directly into my face, no more than a foot away.  The church kept earnestly calling out to God for his help.  Clearly, we were not battling some imaginary “spirit of anger” or whatever.  This was a classic case of demon possession.

  Within a few minutes, the girl was set totally free.  She stopped cursing; her body relaxed.  We relaxed our grip on her, and she gently stood up to raise her hands and begin praising the Lord.  Soon she was singing with the rest of us . . .  Diana has been serving the Lord for 24 years now.  In fact, she serves on staff here at Brooklyn Tabernacle—hey, would somebody locate Diana and bring her in here so the folks can see her?’ 

  And so we all got to see little Diana from Puerto Rico.

  On Tuesday night, the doors opened two hours before show time.  By ‘show time’, the seats were full, and the fans were ready and expectant.  You might like to know that ‘show time’ is Tuesday night prayer meeting in Brooklyn, and the fans are simple people who come from all over New York City, desperate and eager to meet God—just like those friends who brought Diana 24 years ago.  It really is a sight to behold!

 Since the beginning of Jim Cymbala’s ministry, the Tuesday night prayer meeting has been equally important as Sunday morning services.  “My house shall be called a house of prayer,” our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ said . . . oh, not just in a little delicate voice, but with passion and fury!   Is the place of worship you and I go to worship a ‘place of prayer’?  Hmmm…. Something to think about, isn’t it? 

 I have found that so many Christians—whether churches or Bible study groups or whatever . . . well, they like to talk about prayer, but seem to be prayer-challenged.  Individually or corporately, they oft don’t get around to praying!  Whereas the culture of the B-Tab is one of prayer—every service has time appropriated specially for prayer.  We serve a great, big God … right?  We say that, but do we believe it?  If we do, then we would call out to him, wouldn’t we?  We  would bring him our lost teen-agers, our failed marriages, we would carry others to him—just as Diana was brought by her friends …. Right? 

 Two thoughts in closing.  One, if you ever drive up next to me in my Escalade on a Southern California highway, you might catch me calling out to God, demonstrably so … or praising him, while singing, steering wheel lowered, so I can drive with my knees, while I have my arms in the air . . . why?  Because I do so believe!  (Also, I have a mantra, ‘I’ll never see these people again, so what do I care?)  And the second closing thought--just hours before the end of the conference, I ran into Diana in another building, and hugged her . . . before long, we were praying—along with several other of her posse … oh, yes, God is good, God is great!  So stop talking about it, and PRAY!

Grace and Peace,

Christine