Bill Johnson - The Gate of Heaven
Two months ago, I mentioned that I would take time, which I feel will extend through the summer, to review some important matters from the past few years. I have several things on my heart this morning, and I’ll try to settle on one and see how that goes. One of the most startling and sobering realizations for me is that Jesus lived with limitations. Even though He was God, He, as God, had the capacity to do anything but chose to live with restrictions. We know this because He introduced it Himself; He said of Himself, «The Son of Man can do nothing of Himself.» How do you understand that the Son of God can do everything on His own, but as the Son of Man, He can do nothing by Himself? It’s important for us to recognize that Jesus was setting a pace, a standard, and modeling something that can be followed. I know this is something we repeat regularly, but I mention it again today as it’s essential for us to pick up the slack wherever the Lord enables us to do so. This is particularly one area: God has called us to walk in equal measures of power and character; both are important and equally significant.
Now, as much as anyone in the room, I am frustrated with people who live compromised lifestyles yet pray for the sick and expect miracles. It annoys me tremendously. I understand why a large part of the church has concluded that character is more important than power; I comprehend the reasoning behind it, but it’s a reaction to an error that itself creates another error. I ask people the question: What’s more important, to not quench the Holy Spirit or to not grieve the Holy Spirit? Both have equal value and importance. We grieve the Holy Spirit with sin, wrong ambition, and selfish attitudes; we grieve Him through wrong activity. We quench Him by failing to cooperate with divine activity. To quench the Holy Spirit is focused on power, while to grieve the Holy Spirit is focused on character. Those are the two legs we stand on, and I want legs of equal length. It doesn’t make me noble to emphasize character while neglecting power; you’ll receive applause from the religious crowd, but it won’t produce transformation in culture.
I was teaching a class once on operating in the gifts when a guy raised his hand and said that when he has more character in his life, then he will pursue praying for the sick, healing, and deliverance. So, I asked him a question: Who gives you the right to decide when you’re going to obey God? He said, «Heal the sick»; He didn’t say, «Heal the sick when you get your act together.» It felt like a good point to me, and I was encouraged after it came out of my mouth. The point is that it’s not one or the other, and the very fact that we think there’s an option reveals the age we were born into. We were born in an age where it’s seen as an option, but it wasn’t for Jesus or His disciples.
Jesus, in the Great Commission, which we’ll look at shortly, told His disciples to «preach the gospel of the kingdom» and declare that «the kingdom is at hand.» Then He said to teach their disciples everything He taught them. In Matthew 10, He taught them to heal the sick and cast out demons. Therefore, in the Great Commission, the responsibility is to do everything Jesus taught them, and they are responsible to teach their disciples, and their disciples, and their disciples the same thing. It was meant to be maintained as one simple standard throughout the church age until Jesus returns.
I like to use the illustration of a pastor acquaintance who talked about when his church was growing and they were going to build a new sanctuary. He wanted to be involved in the building process, so he talked to the contractor and asked if there was anything he could do. Not knowing anything about building, he wanted to help, so one day the contractor told him that he could cut a hundred two-by-fours to exactly eight feet in length. He was pleased to have an assignment. After all the workers left, he measured out eight feet, drew his line, and cut the first board. Then, he put the tape measure away, thinking he wouldn’t need it anymore. Using the first board as a reference, he cut the second, and then the third, and so on; however, by the one hundredth board, it measured over nine feet long because each time he marked the line, it was slightly longer than the previous one.
For 2,000 years, we make slight adjustments to everything that’s been done and end up with a board that looks nothing like the original, justifying these changes by saying this is how things have changed over time. No, there was one measure; Jesus said, «Teach what I taught you to their disciples. Let them teach the exact same thing to their followers.» It’s meant to be one standard from day one to the final day, but it has been changed. What we’re attempting to do, sometimes succeeding and sometimes not, is to rediscover the eight-foot measure again and follow exactly what Jesus commanded us to do.
In Genesis 28, we have a story about Jacob and a dream that reveals something significant about God’s design. In this moment, it’s critical for us; Genesis 28 verse 12 states that Jacob dreamed, «And behold, a ladder was set up on the earth, and its top reached to heaven, and there the angels of God were ascending and descending. And behold, the Lord stood above it and said, 'I am the Lord God of Abraham your father, and the God of Isaac. The land on which you lie, I will give to you and your descendants.'»
Jump down to verse 16: «Then Jacob awoke from his sleep and said, 'Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it.'» Many church services resemble that statement. Jacob was afraid and said, «How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God.» Listen carefully: «This is the gate of heaven.» There’s a strange metaphor being used here to illustrate the nature of God’s design. The house of God is described here not as a building but as where Jacob laid his head—a rock. This is the first mention of the house of God in the entire Bible, and the first mention always sets a standard.
Here’s the bizarre part: it’s not a building; it’s a rock where Jacob slept, dreamed, saw heaven open, and angels ascending and descending as God spoke. What excites me most about this story is that to Jacob, it seemed logical. He said, «This is none other than the house of God, the gate of heaven.» A gate is something that takes you from one reality to another. This first mention of the house of God contains several elements important for us to remember because they define everything we are.
Number one: it’s where there’s an open heaven. Two: God speaks through that open heaven. Three: angels come and go; there’s angelic activity. That’s the essence of the house of God, a gate on the border of two worlds. Look with me at John chapter 1, where in verse 14, it states that Jesus is the Word of God made flesh, who tabernacled or dwelt among us. The Old Testament prophecy in Genesis 28 foreshadows the nature of the house of God, whose initial fulfillment is illustrated in the person of Jesus, the tabernacle or house of God on earth.
In chapter 1, verse 47, we see Nathaniel experiencing an interesting moment when his brother begs him to come and meet Jesus. Jesus sees Nathaniel coming and says, «Behold, an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.» Nathaniel asks, «How do you know me?» Jesus responds, «Before Philip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.» Here, Jesus demonstrates that He is seeing Nathaniel not just in the natural but in the spirit.
Upon realizing this, Nathaniel answers, «Rabbi, you are the Son of God. You are the King of Israel.» Jesus tells him, «Because I said to you, 'I saw you under the fig tree, ' do you believe? You will see greater things than these.» Listen carefully to what Jesus says next: «Most assuredly, I say to you, hereafter you will see heaven open and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man.» Notice the similarities? This is the initial fulfillment of that Old Testament metaphor of an open heaven and angels coming and going—divine purpose being fulfilled through a house positioned at the edge of two worlds.
Now, let’s go to Acts chapter 2, verse 1: «When the day of Pentecost had fully come, they were all with one accord in one place. And suddenly there came a sound from heaven as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled the whole house where they were sitting.» This is when they begin to speak with other tongues as the Spirit gave them utterance. What were the two natural manifestations seen in these verses? Wind and fire. Hebrews 1 calls angels ministers of wind and ministers of fire. Jesus said to Nathaniel, «You will see greater things,» including angels ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.
I have zero interest in stirring up affection or affinity for the angelic realm; they exist to assist us in our mission, and it’s foolish to ignore them. It’s equally foolish to worship them; they exist to facilitate God’s assignments in our lives. Ignoring them is not wise. Here, in Acts chapter 2, a sound of wind and fire comes into the room. When the sound occurred, the multitude came together, confused because everyone heard them speaking in their own languages. They were amazed, marveled, and perplexed.
If you think you can have an authentic move of God without amazement or mockery, you are mistaken. Years ago, I bought little geodes—those rocks that are ugly on the outside but have beautiful purple crystals inside. I bought some for my kids and said, «This is revival; it looks ugly on the outside but is gorgeous on the inside.» That’s how a move of God is—it must be experienced.
The situation here is similar to David’s wife, Michal, who mocked him while he was dancing before the Lord because worship at a distance always looks strange. She bore no children to her death—barrenness took over where there was rejection of sacrificial giving to the Lord. We see that when the sound occurred, the multitude came together; but it seems many believe that thousands of people all over Jerusalem left what they were doing to come and hear people praying in tongues. That doesn’t make sense; Jerusalem is an international city, and a handful speaking different languages won’t draw thousands.
I would suggest that there was a sound that was otherworldly connecting with those gathered. We have 120 people in one accord, but even 120 people can appear in perfect harmony while being completely out of tune if they first tune to one another. Many ministry movements look united but are not right if they’re not tuned to God’s heart. There’s only one tuning fork; it isn’t yours or mine—it’s His, His heartbeat.
We see this group of 120 people get together after arguing over who’s the greatest just days before, finally coming together for ten days. On the day of Pentecost, with the outpouring of the Spirit, they reach perfect harmony. The point is that when you have 120 people yielded to God, it creates a sound. Just like a skilled musician breathes on a saxophone reed and produces a unique sound, everyone’s harmony creates a blanket sound over the city of Jerusalem.
People who had just crucified Jesus 50 days earlier were now asking, «What must I do to be saved?» It wasn’t merely Peter’s powerful sermon but the backdrop of a corporate revelation over thousands of people about the wondrous works of God. They decided to follow Jesus in the context of this revelation, which is a fulfillment of Genesis 28—a house positioned on the edge of two worlds with open heaven and angelic activity.
Your act of obedience matters; every yes in private translates to a yes in public. I believe that God is creating a sound over Redding, a unique sound that results from our united obedience to Him. Each personal yes contributes to that sound reverberating throughout the city, changing the mindset of the community. Whenever we yield to the Holy Spirit, a sound is released; every time someone dies to self and lives for Christ, a unique sound changes the atmosphere around them.
As we conclude, I share this dream of us coming together in this room with our teams—so gifted in leading us, engaging in worship. The reality is, I won’t worship here beyond what I worship outside these walls. There’s a sound that we carry into our city, a melody of yes to Jesus expressed through our actions—through kindness, through serving others effectively. That sound releases change.
As I reflect on the promises of God, I pray that there’s something of these promises that contributes to a unique harmony over our city; those promises we ponder, repeat, and assimilate will affect how we think, pray, and expect. It must be as organic as breathing—we were born for the promises.
Now, I would like to invite anyone in this room who wants to know Jesus, to truly understand what it means to be a disciple, to be forgiven, to join God’s family. If you’re here wanting that, please raise your hand high so I can see you. Yes, thank you; I see you. Anyone else? You’ve raised your hand; would you be so bold as to come down here? God bless you. Anyone else? Please come forward; we want to pray with you. Thank you, sir; God bless you.