HTML clipboard On one of those Sunday nights early on, I was so depressed by what I saw-and even more by what I felt in my spirit-that I literally could not preach. Five minutes into my sermon, I began choking on the words. Tears filled my eyes. Gloom engulfed me. All I could say to the people was “I’m sorry… I… I can’t preach in this atmosphere….

Something is terribly wrong…. I don’t know what to say-I can’t go on…. Carol, would you play something on the piano, and would the rest of you come to this altar? If we don’t see God help us, I don’t know….” With that, I just quit. It was embarrassing, but I couldn’t do anything else.

The people did as I asked. I leaned into the pulpit, my face planted in my hands, and sobbed. Things were quiet at first, but soon the Spirit of God came down upon us. People began to call upon the Lord, their words motivated by a stirring within. “God, help us,” we prayed. Carol played the old hymn “I Need Thee, Oh, I Need Thee,” and we sang along. A tide of intercession arose.

Suddenly a young usher came running down the center aisle and threw himself on the altar. He began to cry as he prayed.

When I placed my hand on his shoulder, he looked up, the tears streaming down his face as he said, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again! Please forgive me.” Instantly I realized that he was apologizing for taking money from the offering plate. I stood speechless for a moment, bewildered by his unexpected confession.

It was our first spiritual breakthrough. I had not had to play detective, confront the culprit with his misdeed, or pressure him to confess. Here in a single night, during a season of prayer, Problem Number One (out of seemingly thousands) was solved.

That evening, when I was at my lowest, confounded by obstacles, bewildered by the darkness that surrounded us, unable even to continue preaching, I discovered an astonishing truth: God is attracted to weakness. He can’t resist those who humbly and honestly admit how desperately they need him. Our weakness, in fact, makes room for his power.

Cymbala, Jim. Fresh Wind, Fresh Fire. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan publishing House, 1997, p. 18-19.