“I am a little angry with you,” she said. Her voice was low and soft but the look in her eyes told me she was very serious. I sat across from my new friend, the wife of the Anglican priest whom I had stopped in to visit. I had no idea why God had me stop by and visit this man each time I came to his city. We had nothing in common. He was a highly educated priest of a wealthy and highly formal church while I was an American Pentecostal preacher. But, each time I came God would make me knock on his door and have an awkward conversation as we sipped chai.
Now, during one of these visits, his wife had sat down and let me know she was not happy with me. “I am very sorry, did I do or say something to offend you?” (It would not be the first or the last time I did something dumb to offend the Indian culture). “You come here and work with the private churches, but you do nothing to help us!” If she was trying to hide her negative feelings toward me, she was doing a lousy job of it.
“Help you? I don’t understand. How could I possibly do anything to help you?” I asked, feeling very confused. “Our churches are dying!” She explained. “We need revival! We need you to come to our churches and preach and pray. We need you to come help us!” I sat looking at her thinking she must be a little crazy. Me? In an Anglican church? I didn’t even know when to stand up and sit down in those formal services. “But,” I replied, “you know I am a Pentecostal preacher right?” I don’t think I would fit in your churches very well.” “No problem! No Problem! You come and bring revival and everything will be fine!”