You may have heard the news - there's revival happening in Kentucky. At a college chapel service, one thing led to another, and now hundreds of people are descending to catch a glimpse of this new work of the Holy Spirit.

Some are there to cast themselves at the feet of God, to find renewal. Others are there to evaluate, to weigh in, to see if the spirit there is real. Others aren't present, but take to social media to point out to us all how we ought to be responding to this event in real time. How we should judge it, how our souls should be oriented toward it, and how our responses should lead to real-world change.

And that's typical. In the day and age of 24/7 social media and news, we have no shortage of voices telling us how to think, feel, and act for just about anything. It's easy to get lost in the swamp of noise there, and not be mindful of what's really going on in our souls. Revival is happening over there, they say, so we ought to feel hopeful for revival ourselves. Be encouraged, they say, God is doing things.

I told myself I shouldn't publish this one. After all, I don't want to be the guy that pops the balloon, and the downer who's never fun at parties. But I say on my website that we should encounter Jesus with uninhibited honesty, and I need to practice that.

I'm trying to (in some capacity) speak for the functional hurting who are consistently walking in the fog. And for those of you who aren't, this is 100% why we're told to encourage one another day after day. Because some of us are there. And while we may feel alone, we really aren't.

Well, I'm not going to tell you how to feel. I'm not going to judge whether the revival is genuine. Let's say that it is. I'm not going to judge whether anyone there has seen real, soul-altering effects - let's say they all have. I'm not even going to judge whether we should feel hopeful, or encouraged, or especially warm toward God right now.

But we set up a certain dynamic when we proclaim the "ought to" without hearing the "yeah but." We make assumptions about what the mature Christian looks like - what they're composed of internally, how they respond to events like this.

When I see the proclamations on social media, it seems like I'm being told to get with the program. The real Christians are over there - get in line, and someday you'll be real like that. The circumstances in life that have got you down, the tough year at the job, the hard parenting experience, the anxiety - all of that doesn't matter. Go with the program and don't question what you're supposed to feel.

Problem is, that's not my response at all. I didn't want to admit that at first - I wasn't instantly mindful and aware of what was going on. But a friend of mine went to Asbury and recorded a testimony that I watched. Among other things, the student mentioned that someone within the nascent revival had been healed of advanced pancreatic cancer. That's when it hit me. Why? Well, because my long-time pastor died from pancreatic cancer last year.

Sadness, and loss. I am supposed to feel encouragement and hope, abundant life in Jesus. But the response is quite different, and that feels like it has to be hidden. Don't write it up and post it on a blog, Matt. Don't get people down. Wear the mask, maintain the company line, repeat the words, so no one catches on that my response is different. That my Christianity is sub-standard.

That dissonance between what ought to be and what is, that disorientation, that's what I call the Fog. Does it sometimes come out in a bitter tone? Of course, and Jesus knows how to handle that. But my reaction to this revival is not unlike what I describe in the first pages of my book.

So I tell you what it's like to hear of a revival at Asbury. It's like I'm sitting in a wet, cold, dark place in the middle of the woods. Wherever I move, I run into branches that scrape my head, hands, everything. The wind blows through, and I hear, from somewhere far away, the voices of people singing. It's faint, but it's out there. I can't tell what direction it's from - it echoes among the hills around me. And even if I could, I can't get there. I'm on the outside, I'm not part of it, I don't belong. And the warmth I sense (but do not feel) from their gathering, somehow makes the cold more raw. Voices have called out into the darkness but have silenced the response.

They're getting their miracle. While I feel sadness. Does that sound like what the mature Christian's response should be? Viscerally, we may react and say no! But the mature Christian doesn't lose their weakness. They become more aware of it, and more dependent upon God's grace to carry on each day.

Someone else out there is reacting the same way and needs to hear this. Jesus knows our weakness, and he can deal gently with us. Our souls are in his care and safe, whether we experience specific manifestations of the Spirit in this life or not.

He is not ashamed to call us brethren.

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