Below is the text of a Facebook post I made two weeks ago after experiencing what I truly believe was genuine supernatural warfare. I never talk like this. You may review all my previous blog articles and check my social media posts to see that I just don't make claims like this. Nevertheless, what I experienced and reported in the following post is worth recording as an article. Many of you have already read it. If so, please share this with others.
I don't normally say things like this, but something supernatural and naturally unexplainable happened to me at Temple Baptist Church, in Simpsonville, SC this week. We had had a wonderful meeting so far with many people coming to faith in Christ for the first time. On the last night of the meeting I was very relaxed. If nothing really incredible happened we had already had a good week. Nevertheless, as I sat on the front row talking to the pastor's wife, waiting for the service to start, I began to profusely sweat. Within a minute or less my clothes were wet against my skin. Brett (the pastor) asked me if I was hot. I felt like I was about to faint . . . or vomit . . . or die. Something wasn't right. I'd had nothing strange to eat and I have had panic attacks before. This was not a panic attack. Rarely do I do something like this, but I slipped out during the song service and walked around in the halls to try to pull myself together. I loosened my tie as I leaned against a wall and considered my options. On the one hand, if I got up to preach I might well pass out in full view of the crowd . . . or vomit . . . or die (that's how I felt). On the other hand, if I didn't preach it would be an anticlimactic end to a week in which God was clearly moving.
I returned to my seat on the front row as the pastor asked me, "You alright?"
"Fine," I answered. I wasn't , though.
As I approached the stage I was on auto-pilot. Preachers know what I mean. I was going through the motions of a sermon introduction, but all I could think of was what it would look like when I collapsed in a few minutes. I actually opened my mouth twice intending to say, "I'm sorry, I've got to stop - I'm not feeling well," but each time I just kept preaching. It was the most miserable experience in the pulpit I've ever had - that's saying something. At the end, the altar was full and there were a number of salvations. HERE IS THE MOST INTERESTING THING - The moment the altar call was over (and those who had come for salvation were ushered out of the sanctuary) FOOOOOOM it was over. I felt fine. I felt great! I told the crowd that I felt as though I had been in a fist fight.
I'm not the type to say that just because your scratched up Sandy Patty CD from the 90s skipped that the the Devil is in the sound system. That's not me - but - this was different. I had encountered (I'm convinced) a legitimate Satanic attack.
I took my place next to the pastor's wife, and continued waiting for the service to end. As soon as it was over, Brett (the pastor) rushed over to me and said something like, "Are you ready for this? . . . I had a veteran deacon get saved tonight!"
"Does he say he got saved," I asked.
"Yes, he's telling everybody!" he answered.
The next week in Dillon, SC the pastor of Mt. Calvary Baptist Church, Greg Hyler, told me that he had stopped in the middle of their Wednesday night service (at the same time I was experiencing all that was previously mentioned) because he felt the need to pray for me.
I've been fine for the rest of the week. The Christian Apologist in me notices a couple of things. I could explain away the fact that I had a weird physiological issue. I could even explain it as coincidence that it happened as I was beginning to preach. What makes this so powerful to me is the context. 8 or so people including a deacon were saved. I'm not saying this to sound cool or anything. I've probably messed up more services over the past 18 years than I've gotten right, but I really think I stood toe to toe with the enemy this week. God did it all!
Please "share" this with others. I have no more words!