Charisma Magazine

Every rock is a spiritual lesson waiting to be learned when you’re in Israel. Or so it seemed that way when I went there for the first time a couple of years ago.

Any believer who’s traveled around the Holy Land and traced the footsteps of Jesus knows the deep, almost inexplicable awakening that explodes inside you when, while touching the same land Jesus touched, the thought crosses your mind: This is where my Savior was. I’m actually standing where the God of the universe stood!

It happened countless times during my visit. Everywhere I went the surroundings seemed to whisper their Christ-brushed history like a flag flapping in the wind.

It’s not by chance that this weekend, while kazillions of Americans pack theaters to watch what is arguably the year’s most anticipated movie, The Hunger Games, a Gideon-sized army (by comparison) will opt for a far lesser-known title that centers on the same theme: the fight for life.

October Baby, a small-budget film about an “abortion survivor’s” journey to self-discover, can’t compete with The Hunger Games’ production costs, marketing dollars, merchandising revenue, book sales, media fixation or even adolescent obsession. It does, however, represent the profound crossroads our culture stands at concerning something as simple as life—and more specifically, how we define it, protect it and further it.

I’ve never met a believer who didn’t have an innate vision for revival. Sure, the concept of what revival actually looks like varies from person to person. But we all long to see a mass outpouring of the Holy Spirit that transforms cities and nations.

There’s a problem, though: Too many Christians in America would rather sit on the sidelines and argue over what does and doesn’t qualify as a revival than actually expend the energy to pray and prepare their hearts for one. If there is any hope for our country’s future, this must change. Before you think I’m advocating for people to check all discernment at the door (along with their brains), let me explain.

I experienced firsthand the Toronto Blessing and the Brownsville Revival in the 1990s. I attended countless churches, conferences and events during that season where the Holy Spirit would show up in such power that any man-made agendas or sermon outlines became pointless. It was truly unique.

The media can’t stop talking about Jeremy Lin, but what is God saying through the frenzy?

I have 1,001 reasons to love the Jeremy Lin story. First, the obvious: I’m human and, like anyone with a pulse, love a good ol’ fashioned underdog story. Few things can top the tale of a Harvard walk-on-turned-All-Ivy-Leaguer who goes undrafted, bounces around a few NBA teams and the NBA’s Development League, and then gets a Hail Mary chance with a team in the world’s biggest media market. Fast-forward all of two weeks since the New York Knicks point guard was inserted into a game because of teammates’ injuries, and we’re all swept up in Linsanity.

But I also love Lin’s story because of personal connections. I was raised in Hong Kong, where most of my friends were Asian-American, and I have family and friends from Taiwan. Having been a lifelong hoops junkie who played on high school and national teams (since I was born in Hong Kong), I also know what it’s like to always be the guy on the court who doesn’t look like everyone else and is, in some way, representing an entire race. It’s thrilling to watch a guy break down stereotypes in a game that’s historically been saturated with racial and cultural undercurrents.

Then there are the more underlying reasons for cheering on this Lincredible run. From a purely sports perspective, the 23-year-old “nobody” stands out in a league built around prima donnas—and on a team that was mired in the egos of at least two of them. His old-school, team-first focus on winning, as well as his atypical deference to teammates amid the media spotlight adds to the intrigue. As Fox Sports columnist Greg Couch wrote, “It took someone whom no one believed in to get a team of unmatched parts to believe in itself.” There we go again with that All-American Hoosiers psyche.