Post-Charismatic

By Robby McAlpine

"Our weekly Charismatics Anonymous meeting is about to begin. Join me, won't you?"

 

It's like we're caught between a rock and a hard place.

 

We're "continuationists." We believe all the gifts of the Holy Spirit are alive and well and essential for today. But we've also been burned by unbiblical teachings, spiritual abuse, and the gaslighting subculture of pneuma-fomo (fear of missing out on the next great move of the Spirit).

 

We yearn for the Spirit's presence and power in our lives. We don't want to "throw the baby out with the bathwater," but the water's teeming with spiteful pathogens. It's time to roll up our sleeves and take responsibility for disinfecting the tub. Toxic beliefs have produced spiritual casualties among Pentecostals and charismatics for far too long.

 

Our Kairos moment has arrived. Let's hone the charismata of discernment.

 

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Robby McAlpine writes with a positive and constructive voice. For burned-out and hurt former charismatics, Post-Charismatic leads the way forward toward a mature and sane re-engagement with the person and work of the Holy Spirit. Post-Charismatic is not post-Holy Spirit, it is a call for post-weirdness.

 

Bishop Todd Hunter, Churches for the Sake of Others

Former National Director, VineyardUSA

• Language: English
• Publisher: Smoke Valley Press
• Release date: Aug 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781989509234

Robby McAlpine

Robby McAlpine (the blogger formerly known as Robbymac) is a veteran pastor, missionary, author, and musician. He earned a B.A. in Biblical Studies from Providence University College, and invested three years in postgraduate studies at Tyndale Seminary (Toronto) and Providence Seminary (Winnipeg). Robby’s articles have been featured online at Next Wave, Think Theology, Church Leaders, Worship Links, and Church Plants. He also served on the editorial team for Dr. Bill Jackson’s History of the Christian Church, Volume Two. Robby and Wendy live in western Canada, and enjoy good times with good friends over good Okanagan Valley wine. When he’s not writing, Robby can usually be found playing his Fender Jazz bass, hanging out with friends in various coffeeshops, or spending time with his adult children.

Book preview

1

PNEUMA-FOMO

Author Patrick J. McGinnis coined the term fomo in 2004 while writing for The Harbus, a publication of Harvard Business School. It’s an acronym, meaning Fear Of Missing Out. It was quickly adopted by corporations, educational institutions, mental health experts, and eventually — as I’m sure you’ve already guessed — all manner of social media.

Previous generations struggled against the tyranny of keeping up with the Joneses, but fomo’s on anabolic steroids by comparison. It ensnares every level of society, regardless of socio-economic demographic, and the inevitable fruit is anxiety and depression.

As a term, fomo might be unique to the 21st century, but the concept of pneuma-fomo is familiar to anyone with experience in Pentecostal and charismatic circles. Fear of missing out on the next great move of the Spirit has, for decades, discouraged Christians from voicing their concerns about biblically-sketchy teachings and toxic behavior. Whenever wounded believers considered leaving an abusive church, pneuma-fomo sowed doubt in their minds. Maybe I just need to submit more. Or have more faith. What if God’s about to unleash an end-times revival, but I’m disqualified because …

And in some cases, pneuma-fomo was dangled over their heads as a threat: Submit to your covering, or else. The symptoms and fruit are eerily similar: anxiety, fear, depression – compounded by a truncated ability to discern the Spirit’s leading.

A bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out (Matt. 12:20). Jesus, our Good Shepherd, has compassion for the bruised reeds and smoldering wicks scattered throughout the Pentecostal and charismatic movements. He will patiently heal and liberate us from pneuma-fomo.

About that heretic thing

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines heretic as a person who differs in opinion from an accepted belief or doctrine. In everyday use, heretic is often synonymous with outside Christian orthodoxy, or in other words, apostate. It’s a serious accusation.

Serious enough that I won’t be using it.

As far as I know, everyone mentioned in this book is a genuine follower of Jesus. We may disagree with – and flee from – some of their teachings, but we daren’t call their salvation into question.

That raises an awkward thought: how much false teaching do you have to embrace to be considered a false teacher?

Take me, for example. I was a teenaged cessationist. My church and denomination taught me that some of the charismata – specifically, the sign gifts – ceased to exist after the first century (hence cessationism). My Christian peers all thought the same way. So, that’s what I believed. What Jesus said is true: everyone who is fully trained will be like the teacher (Luke 6:40b).

In hindsight, the evening I surrendered to Jesus – mid-Grade 10 – was an unexpected and Spirit-initiated Paul knocked off his donkey on the Damascus road adventure. Less than a year later, I experienced what some call the baptism of the Holy Spirit at my denomination’s militantly anti-charismatic summer camp (further proof that God has a sense of humor). I didn’t speak in tongues, much to the bewilderment of my Pentecostal friends, but it was a profound encounter with the Spirit.

Yet if you’d asked me at the time, I would have – despite these obviously charismatic experiences – identified as a cessationist. My studies at a non-denominational Bible college changed my mind a few years later, and I realized that all of the charismata continue to this day (hence continuationist). It wasn’t long before my experiences caught up to my pneumatology.

You see my dilemma?

I was a genuine convert to faith in Jesus, with my very own Spirit-baptism story, but I hadn’t put two-and-two together yet. If anyone brought up spiritual gifts for discussion, I would’ve sincerely and confidently denied that charismatic gifts exist today. Did my cessationist paradigm make me a false teacher, or simply a sincere Christian teenager in need of a theological adjustment?

Despite their obvious differences regarding spiritual gifts, cessationists and continuationists share common theological ground: both are considered secondary doctrines. That doesn’t mean they’re unimportant, but they don’t represent the core beliefs that define Christianity, as found in the Apostles’ or Nicene Creed.

For example, believing in the present-day gift of tongues (or not) has absolutely zero effect on the doctrine of salvation by grace through faith in Jesus. Believing that God still heals and performs miracles today (or not) has no impact on Jesus being the Way, the Truth, the Life, and the only way to the Father (John 14:6).

If both continuationists and cessationists can affirm the Apostles’ Creed, that makes us family.

Jesus told (and still tells) His disciples, Do to others as you would have them do to you (Luke 6:31). I’d balk at being labelled a heretic, so I won’t be lobbing that particular label, either. I’m willing – compelled, even – to confront unbiblical teachings and spiritually abusive practices, but that’s not the same thing.

Vineyard? It’s … complicated

When Wendy and I were dating/engaged, we attended a Full Gospel church near our Bible college. The preaching made us cringe at times (mainly sunny today, with a chance of light proof-texting), but we enjoyed the worship and our newfound friends’ joyful zeal. We spent hours with them in local coffeeshops and pizzerias, discussing what we loved about the worship and unpacking the sermon content.

And at some point, Wendy and I gave voice to The Dream: "Wouldn’t it be awesome if there was a church that combined the evangelicals’ exegetical teaching and the Pentecostal openness to the charismata of the Spirit?"

Required reading at our Bible college included George Mallone’s Furnace of Renewal and Those Controversial Gifts, as well as Michael Green’s To Corinth with Love and I Believe in the Holy Spirit. Their books gave us hope that it was possible to be evangelical in belief and charismatic in practice, without compromising sound theology or quenching the Spirit.

So it should come as no surprise that our discovery of John Wimber’s Power Evangelism and Power Healing – a few years after graduating from seminary – felt like the missing puzzle piece had fallen into place.

The Vineyard’s already and not yet theology of the Kingdom dovetailed with what we’d studied in Bible college. Their emphasis on everyone gets to play (the priesthood of all believers) appealed to our desire for grassroots, no-superstars-needed ministry.

We loved their laid-back, naturally supernatural approach to spiritual gifts. The Vineyard aimed for what they called the radical middle between evangelicals and charismatics, which gave Wendy and I language for our hopes and dreams.

As they say, your mileage may vary.

Which, being translated, means our experience in the Vineyard was a lively smorgasbord of solid teaching and reckless proof-texting; encouraging prophetic words and grandiose over-promising hype; self-effacing prayer teams and know-it-all prayer warriors; genuine miracles of healing/deliverance and exaggerated claims that evaporated upon closer inspection; servant-hearted worship leaders and an apparent pecking order among the truly anointed (much like any other denomination). And, from time to time, the necessity of sorting through various Vineyard controversies (e.g., Kansas City Prophets, or the Toronto Blessing).

I said all that to say this

I write as an insider. Post-Charismatic isn’t about them. It’s about us. We can quote the old adage – don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater – as often as we’d like, but that doesn’t address the underlying problem. If the water’s been infected with toxic pathogens, it’s time to roll up our sleeves and take responsibility for cleaning out the tub – Pentecostals, charismatics, Vineyardians, or whatever trendy label the future holds.

The Bible consistently instructs us to be on guard against false teaching, from Old Testament prophets like Jeremiah ¹ and Ezekiel, ² to Peter, ³ John, ⁴ Paul, ⁵ Jude, ⁶ and Jesus of Nazareth. ⁷ And the apostle Paul’s pro-active (and Spirit-inspired) guidance is timeless: "Do not quench the Spirit. Do not treat prophecies with contempt but test them all; hold on to what is good, reject every kind of evil" (1 Thess. 5:19–22, emphasis added).

That’s our goal.

(Glancing covertly at my watch …)

Our weekly Charismatics Anonymous meeting is about to begin. Join me, won’t you?

1 Jeremiah 23:9–40.

2 Ezekiel 13:1–13.

3 2 Peter 2:1–22.

4 1 John 4:1–6; Revelation 2:2.

5 Acts 20:28–31; 2 Corinthians 11:3–5, 13–15; 1 Timothy 1:3–11; 2 Timothy 4:1–5.

6 Jude 4–19.

7 Matthew 7:15–23.

2

CHARISMATICS ANONYMOUS

A few remaining leaves rustled in the autumn breeze as dusk began to fall. Streetlamps flickered into life, casting slanted shadows across the concrete sidewalk.

The weathered building’s narrow and unremarkable façade was difficult to spot in the bustling downtown. A metal door, propped open by a folding chair, allowed the faint murmur of voices to escape.

Inside the drafty room, beneath droning fluorescent lights, several volunteers arranged chairs into something resembling straight lines. A battered wooden lectern stood at the front of the room, flanked by a microphone on its stand. On the opposite side, a few early arrivals gathered around a table adorned with a coffee urn and a collection of mismatched ceramic mugs.

Sandra stood on the steps outside, waiting for Justine, her guest that evening. Hands tucked into her jacket pockets, she smiled in welcome as people filtered past her and stepped over the threshold. She scanned the pedestrian traffic for her friend’s face. I hope she didn’t change her mind.

Rick went quietly about his weekly routine inside, renewing acquaintances with the regulars and welcoming anyone who appeared to be new or unsure of themselves. As the group’s facilitator, he was especially attentive to creating a safe and welcoming environment.

He was pleased to see Sandra slip inside the door, rubbing her hands together for warmth. Her guest, Justine, followed close behind – her first visit to the group. Sandra, like Rick, was a survivor who had completed the program and was now giving back by reaching out to others with similar struggles.

The room wasn’t crowded this evening; attendance varied from week to week, but they were used to that. Rick was tempted to set the microphone aside, but he knew better. Invariably, some participants were soft-spoken, and the back row would complain they couldn’t hear. Ignoring the microphone wasn’t an option.

Good evening, everyone, he said without preamble. Stragglers stirred their coffees and found their seats. My name is Rick, and I’m post-charismatic.

Hello, Rick, came the gruffly chorused reply. A couple of the regulars chuckled and whispered comments to those sitting beside them.

Welcome to Charismatics Anonymous, Rick said, scanning the faces before him. "As we begin, I’d like to make clear, as we do every week, that we don’t consider ourselves ex-charismatics. And we’re certainly not anti-charismatic. Our common ground is that we’ve all, in one way or another, been wounded and disillusioned by bad church experiences. He paused for a moment, noting the range of reactions – a chair scraping on the floor here, an involuntary grimace there. He continued, choosing his words with care. In some ways, it would be easier to simply ignore the Holy Spirit and be an ex-charismatic. I’ll be honest: I’ve been tempted, more than once! But I just can’t bring myself to be post-Spirit."

The regulars nodded, and even some of the more skeptical newcomers seemed to understand. Rick saw Sandra whisper something (probably an explanation) to her nervous guest in the second-to-last row.

Trevor sat in the first row, although Rick mused that one could hardly call his posture sitting – half on the chair and half-ready to either stand or bolt for the door. Trevor was a regular, and had been for several months, but his church wounds were still raw. Rick motioned for him to step forward. It’s our weekly practice to listen to each other’s stories. We want everyone to feel the freedom to speak plainly, without fear of judgment, about your church experiences.

Trevor bolted out of his chair and all but ran to the lectern, a large, folded sheet of paper clutched in his hand. He laughed nervously, his actions quick and edgy. Hi, everyone. My name’s Trevor, and I’m post-charismatic, too.

Hello, Trevor.

Trevor unfolded his project and held it out for the group to see. I made this yesterday. I remembered what somebody said last week about making a fearless inventory. That got me thinking: what if I made a list of ‘You might be in a charismatic church if …’ And I came up with this. He began reading, and people murmured approvingly, a few even laughing out loud. "You might be in a charismatic church if:

"You avoid the ‘positive confession cops’ at church because you’ve got a cold that won’t go away.

"People ask about your ‘covering,’ and you know they don’t mean the blanket on your bed.

"Somebody said you’ve got a ‘religious spirit’ because you asked the wrong question.

"You finally figured out ‘touch not the Lord’s anointed’ really means SHUT UP.

"You sing worship songs that make heaven sound like it’s the fourth member of the Trinity.

"You’ve confessed every sin you ever committed – and even a few you didn’t – but you’re still sick. Now you’ve got guilt, too.

"Every traveling prophet has decreed prosperity, fame, and a worldwide ministry over you, but you’re stuck in a dead-end job and your car just broke down … again.

Everyone over age 25 failed to ‘take the land,’ but, for some reason, you still have to submit to them. Even though you’re the ‘chosen’ generation.

Sandra smiled at Trevor’s creativity. It was his way of dealing with his disillusionment, but she wondered what effect it was having on the rest of the group. She stole a surreptitious glance at her guest. Justine smiled slightly at a few of Trevor’s items, but her face paled noticeably at others.

Trevor laughed at a few of his favorites as he read the list—loudly, for the sake of those in the last row. His expression shifted to discomfort as he finished, the paper shaking slightly in his hand. Actually, he said, trying with obvious effort to control his emotions, this is funny only if it’s never happened to you. He refolded his project and cleared his throat. Rick’s right—it would be easier to just write sarcastic lists and pretend like none of this matters. Or maybe find a church that doesn’t believe in the Spirit, except for on paper. Or just dump everything to do with God and get on with my life. But I was reading in the gospel of John the other day – chapter six, I think – and Peter said, ‘Lord, where else would we go?’ That’s pretty much how I feel, too.

Sandra felt Justine stir beside her, and she leaned closer.

I want to say something, Justine whispered, but I’m a little nervous. Will you come with me?

Of course, Sandra replied. She gently took Justine by the arm, and they made their way to the front. Trevor saw them approach and nodded, stepping aside. He settled heavily into his chair, raising a jarring squeak on the tiled floor.

Hello, everyone, Sandra said into the microphone, glancing around, making as much eye contact as she could. My name is Sandra, and this is my friend Justine. She’d like to share something.

Hello, Sandra. Hello, Justine, came the formal, yet surprisingly warm response. Sandra smiled, proud of the welcome they extended to Justine.

The group waited patiently as Justine collected herself. She stood silently, head down, arms crossed, one balled-up fist pressed against her lips. After what seemed a small eternity, she looked up and began to speak.

I’ve only just left my church. She spoke haltingly at first, but her words began to tumble over each other. "I’m just so scared and angry. They said I’d miss God’s destiny for my life if I didn’t stay submitted to our apostle. The more she spoke, the sharper and louder her voice became. I was terrified to question anything because I didn’t want to speak against God’s delegated authority. I knew they’d accuse me of sowing disunity, or having a spirit of unbelief. Deep down, I knew something was wrong, but I was too afraid to say anything. She paused, tears slipping down her cheeks, a stark contrast to the fury in her voice. Even tonight, when I first arrived, I was scared God would be mad at me for coming. I kept thinking what if my leaders find out?"

She stopped abruptly, her face an anguished mask of anger, sadness, and betrayal. A profound silence settled over the group.

Sandra spoke up. This is difficult for me, as well, she said, looking guilty. I used to be a leader at Justine’s church. I share some of the blame for teaching her those things. For her to reach out to me now is … humbling, but also a painful reminder of the damage I’ve caused.

Sympathetic nods and murmured affirmations ran through the small gathering. Rick took a deep breath, grateful for the caring atmosphere. And grieved yet again by the pain reflected in the two women at the lectern, one trembling with pent-up pain and anger, and the other guilt-stricken.

How did this happen? Where did it all go so wrong? What could we have done different? He knew the problem wasn’t people. Not even leaders who taught, defended, and enforced abusive practices. No, the real root of the problem was the unbiblical theology behind it all – a poisoned foundation leading inevitably to a spiritually abusive church culture.

A fragment of a Bible verse popped into Rick’s mind: My people are destroyed from lack of knowledge. ¹ Hope I’m not taking that out of context. But that about sums it up.

An awkward pause followed Justine and Sandra’s heartfelt sharing. It didn’t last long, perhaps only a minute, but it felt longer. Rick joined them by the lectern. He breathed a silent prayer, treading carefully as he broke the silence.

I realize this might trigger all kinds of emotions and memories for some of you. He spotted a few likely candidates, judging by their expressions. But it’s important, as we sort through everything, that we don’t lose sight of the most basic and precious things. He laid a cautious hand on Sandra’s shoulder. Will you join me in praying for Sandra and Justine? Is that okay, Justine?

Justine nodded her head, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough. Chairs scraped and shuffled as the group stood to their feet. Some extended their hands toward the two women. Others simply bowed their heads, fists jammed into pockets. A few regulars gathered around the three at the lectern, keeping a respectful distance.

And together, each in his or her own way, they prayed.

Rather than watch our wounded brothers and sisters turn their backs on the faith or reject genuine spiritual experiences, those of us who identify with the charismatic renewal should determine to help rid our movement of its extra baggage. ²

Truer words have never been spoken, and more difficult words have never been spoken. Rooting out the problematic teachings that plague Pentecostals, charismatics, the Third Wave – and whatever label emerges next – is much easier said than done. Some of the teachings seem to take on new life, and new terminology, with each successive generation. Most have built-in defenses to dissuade anyone from asking the wrong – or any – questions.

The need for thoughtful discernment is as old as Christianity itself; false teachers never advertise the lack of biblical support for their pet theologies. Saint Irenaeus penned these words in AD 180, Error, indeed, is never set forth in its naked deformity, lest, being thus exposed, it should at once be detected. But it is craftily decked out in an attractive dress, so as, by its outward form, to make it appear to the inexperienced (ridiculous as the expression may seem) more true than truth itself. ³

As the Charismatics Anonymous meeting illustrates, toxic theologies and the resulting spiritual abuse are producing casualties at a rapidly accelerating rate. Bad root = bad fruit. Although there’s no literal Charismatics Anonymous support group, the attendees could be described as post-charismatic.

Post-charismatics, as I’m using the term, are Jesus-followers who feel like they’re caught between a rock and a hard place. Many of us have experienced mental, emotional, and/or psychological abuse at the hands of pastors, leaders, friends, and family. Others have concluded that much of what we’ve been taught is not supported by – and possibly contrary to – the Bible.

At the same time, we’re continuationists. We believe that all of the spiritual gifts found in the New Testament are alive and well and needed today. Our challenge is to separate the chaff from the wheat, the baby from the bathwater, the matter from the antimatter, or whatever metaphor most appeals to you.

I’d generally agree with Jack Deere’s observation in Surprised by the Power of the Spirit. If you were to lock a brand-new Christian in a room with a Bible and tell him to study what Scripture has to say about healing and miracles, he would never come out of the room a cessationist. ⁴ On the other hand, I’d also suggest that if this same person heard someone say intercession, they wouldn’t automatically respond by flinging themselves to the floor, wailing as if they’re in excruciating abdominal pain.

Burned out on hype and pulpit showmanship, weary of learning 95 ways to use spiritual gifts when they recognize more basic needs, these believers are in search of a deeper spirituality that emphasizes the fruit of the Spirit as much or more than the gifts. ⁵ This weeding-out process is a daunting challenge for post-charismatics. Re-examining our core beliefs can be mentally and emotionally exhausting – complicated by trigger-happy raw memories. There are few grids to guide us, and objectivity is, even at the best of times, elusive.

Philosopher