All You Need Is
Love
...the love of God has been poured out
in our hearts by
the Holy Spirit who was given to us.
Romans 5:5
Lonnie Frisbee told those who were standing to leave by the side entrance and go to another building in the courtyard where he would pray with them. More than one hundred people responded and walked out of the sanctuary. Michael was one of them. He soon found himself wedged into a small Sunday school room crowded with people. Since there was no room to sit, they stood quietly, somewhat like tourists in a Disneyland mystery house, wondering what would happen next.
Michael was uncomfortable. Most of those in the room were a few years younger than himself. He wondered what he looked like to them — a shipwrecked sailor, an emotional derelict, perhaps? Certainly a failure. But a quick glance around disclosed that no one was paying the slightest attention to him. Lonnie had walked up to the blackboard and was holding a piece of chalk. "Tonight," he said soberly, "you have given your hearts to God. You believe in His Son, Jesus Christ. That means, according to
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the Scriptures, you are saved; you are God's children." He recited several texts underscoring the truth of their salvation, including John 1:12: "As many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God. . . "
Michael began to feel a little better.
The speaker drew on the blackboard an upside-down waterglass. "I want to tell you," he said, "about the fullness of the power of God's Spirit that He has available for you tonight."
Michael didn't know what he was talking about.
Two more glasses were drawn, one shown lying on its side, one upright. "Your life," he went on, "is like a glass. If it's turned upside down like this, no water can get in; it just splashes off the base. If the glass is turned sideways like this, it still can't get in. But," (pointing to the third glass) "if it's straight up like this, open at the top, then the water can come in and fill it. And that's what the Holy Spirit wants to do. He wants to pour out God's love and fill you to overflowing."
As he continued to talk about the Holy Spirit, some of the sadness that had touched Michael's life began to dissipate like clouds over the California coastline burning off under the morning rays of the sun. The bitterness evaporated, and that constant companion, the migraine headache, vanished for the moment. The room seemed a haven of calm, and Michael sensed that others were having a similar experience of peace.
Lonnie was speaking again. "What I'm going to do now is go around and lay hands on you and pray God's Spirit will give you all power." Michael noticed a few people dropping to their knees. A new worry caused him to fidget: these people were getting pretty emotional. As the speaker made his way around the room the weeping became audible. Some were raising their hands, some were
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singing snatches of a chorus, still others were speaking in a language Michael didn't understand. He really had no idea what was happening, but he was pretty sure he didn't want any part of it. Maybe he ought to be leaving. Then another thought occurred to him: why was he judging these people? Hadn't his behavior been a lot worse than theirs? Hadn't he gone out to Yucca Valley with a bunch of weirdos and waited for spaceships until all hours of the night?
The leader came by and prayed with the person nearest him. Michael was the only one left he had not spoken to. Now he was looking at him: "I'm going to pray for you," he said.
The murmuring and sobbing had increased. "I'm kinda frightened," Michael confessed. "I don't understand what's going on."
"Well, I'm just going to lay hands on you, and if you want to worship God, just go ahead."
Michael shook his head. He didn't like strange, long-haired men touching him! "I don't know one thing you're talking about, but I do love God and I want to serve Him, and I do believe I'm saved tonight."
The man closed his eyes and placed his hands on Michael's forehead. At that moment it seemed as if the heavens opened and a shower of love cascaded down upon him. It came down so strongly that he couldn't stand, but went on his knees and wept like a baby. Then came a sensation of inexpressible warmth, as if everything, even the outer reaches of space and the black holes of the universe, were filled with the glow of God's love. The peace Michael felt was total. He no longer held any grudges; the chips on his shoulder were gone; all his hassles were history. Whatever it was that had enveloped him, it came with
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awesome power, and he recognized in it the immensity of divine love.
When the Beatles sang, "All you need is love," they were looking for it without knowing what it was. For Michael at last the mystery was unlocked. He knew from the bottom of his heart that he had been welcomed into the kingdom of love.
For all his interest in other people, and particularly in members of the opposite sex, Michael had never been a demonstrative person. Yet in that little classroom, on his knees, he lifted his hands to God and began speaking. He felt as if his spirit had just been released into the Holy Spirit. The name "Jesus" passed his lips, the "name which is above every name" (Phil. 2:9), the one expression that made sense of the whole creation.
It was as if Michael had been crawling through the weeds and brambles of all the different religions with their gurus, their messiahs, their limousines, and their Mickey Mouse spirits and incantations and had come out on a grassy clearing where the sun was beaming down. Here song thrushes were trilling, tiny forget-me-nots were blooming, and everything with breath was praising the Lord until the love of God seemed overwhelming.
This was truth. This was the pure flame of the gospel of Christ. "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life" (John 3:16).
As in a dream, Michael saw again the German woman at the farm in Oregon who taught him to read the Bible as a little boy . . . the Baptist Sunday school teacher who wept at his first confession of Christ . . . the prayer chapel in the Grotto . . . a man who saw him reading a book about yoga and handed him a Gideon New Testament . . . and Jesus. Jesus whom he had seen just before the explosion took
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place inside his head that terrible night at Ron's place. Jesus who said to him, "Michael, when the first nail went into My hand, and My blood was shed, your sins were forgiven. You have to receive that and believe it in your heart."
But he didn't — until tonight.
The meeting was over. One by one people were leaving the Sunday school room; the regular evening meeting had long since been dismissed. Michael pedaled his way back to Huntington Beach, stopping at traffic lights and looking up at the stars. "God," he prayed, "You saved me. I'm Yours. I can't believe it!" His heart pounded not from exertion but from elation. Faster and faster he pumped his legs. "What happened?" kept coming to his lips. "What happened, Lord? It's so real and so simple. Wow!"
He reached his house and ran up to the front door filled with the love of God, on fire with the glad tidings of great joy. In the kitchen some of his roommates were sitting, smoking, enjoying a few beers, and discussing rather warmly the future of America's middle class in a revolutionized Marxist society.
"Hey, you guys," exclaimed Michael, "you've got to learn about Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit. Jesus Christ is coming back and you've got to be born again!"
They stared at him. Smiles appeared, but the discussion continued. They could not comprehend the momentous revolution that had just occurred in Michael's life.
