Reinhard Bonnke :
One day when I was 16, I attended an all-night prayer meeting in Krempe. I was lost in prayer for hours when I received a word from the Lord. This idea entered my consciousness from the realms above. It sliced across my mind and sent all other thoughts out of my head. You and Manfred Fischer are to go preach in Tostedt. Now I knew where Tostedt was. It lay 50 miles beyond Hamburg and
across the Elbe River. We had enjoyed fellowship with another Pentecostal congregation from there when coming together at special joint meetings. But the idea of Manfred and I preaching there seemed impossible.
My own father did not invite me to preach in his church.
How could I expect a pastor from a distant town to allow a 16-year-old, or even Manfred, who was 17, preach from his pulpit? The idea was preposterous.
But as I prayed, a scripture came to mind in connection to the original outpouring of Pentecost. The apostle Peter had stood in Jerusalem and explained the manifestation of them Spirit to the curious crowd. He had quoted from the prophet Joel. Part of that quotation came back to me now:
… I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy …
I knew that the word prophesy was our word for preach. Scripture seemed to back up the idea that under the influence of the Spirit one did not need the maturity of years, or the education of a seminary, to be enabled to preach. Still, I felt reluctant. How could I presume to do this thing?
I felt a tap on my shoulder. Raising my head from prayer I looked into the eyes of Manfred Fischer.
“Reinhard,” he said, “The Spirit of God has spoken to me.
We are to go to Tostedt to preach.”
I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck. More than that, I felt faith leap up in my heart. I was totally energized by the voice of the Spirit speaking to both of us about the same thing.
How could we do this? We decided that we would invite others and go as a group of young people from our church to the church in Tostedt. If the pastor there would have us, we would come and conduct a service for him. Sons and daughters prophesying.
After putting the idea before my father and receiving his approval to pursue it, we put our heads together and wrote a letter to the pastor in Tostedt. His name was Pastor Rudolph Winter. We told him how the Spirit had spoken to us during a prayer meeting. We also quoted the scripture from the day of Pentecost where Peter had spoken to the crowd. “If you agree that this is something from the Lord then we would be pleased to respond to your invitation,” we wrote.
A few days later an invitation arrived in the mail from Pastor Rudolph Winter. Manfred and I were ecstatic. I showed the invitation to my father, and he gave the approval for the dates. Then we were filled with dread.
What would we say? I had never preached from a pulpit before.
Bolstered by a group of three other young men who accompanied us, we took the train from Glückstadt to Tostedt. When we arrived the pastor introduced us to his congregation by saying, “The Holy Spirit sent them.” I had my guitar, and we led singing and praise and then began to offer exhortations as the Spirit gave us utterance. One after another the young people spoke. The crowd received us well.
Then I took my Bible to preach. This was not an evangelistic sermon. I was not yet an evangelist, though I had led one man to Christ while preaching on the street.
This was something else that I spoke to the believers in such a way that I still do not understand. It was as if the Holy Spirit began to fall on that crowd like a gentle rain.
They began weeping all across the room. There was such sweetness in the atmosphere that you could almost smell it, like the perfume of lilac blossoms. We worshipped and took a long bath in the refreshing flow of the Spirit. Gifts of the Spirit manifested, and the service was out of my hands.
When we returned home, Pastor Winter told my father what had happened. He especially noted the response of the congregation when I had spoken. Father listened and took it all in, but we were not asked to repeat our ministry in his pulpit. It would be another three years before he opened his pulpit to me. In the meantime he continued to say, “Martin shall be my successor,” though his voice had lost its normal tone of absolute certainty. Martin had begun his higher education in a secular university.
After many years I was preaching in Germany. After the sermon an old Pentecostal saint approached me. She was still clothed and groomed in the way of the old-time holiness believers. Her hair was long and straight and fixed in a bun. Her clothes were drab, and not a sign of a ring or a jewel could be seen on her anywhere. Not even a brooch. With eyes shining, she took my hand. “Do you remember when you were just a boy and you came to Tostedt and preached?”
“Yes, of course I do.”
“I was there.”
She took my hand in both of hers and tears welled in her eyes. “It is something I shall never forget.”
The tremble of her voice, and the tone of it, suggested to me that the memory had somewhat different meanings for the two of us. For me, Tostedt had been a confirmation that I was moving in the right direction as a young man. It showed me that obeying the voice of the Spirit would produce remarkable and unexpected results, and I should continue to walk in faith and obedience.
For her, the experience had become nostalgic; something that took her back with longing to a time that was no more. I sensed that she felt something had been lost in Pentecost since then.
For me, nothing could be further from the truth. So much had been gained! Tostedt was merely a launching pad, a beginning; not an end in itself.
I have not been able to recall the disagreement to this day. It was one of those issues that make no real impact. Has no lasting value. Yet the kind that drives people apart and leaves them raw and angry. It was one of the little foxes, that spoil the vines,[34] as Solomon called them.
The thing I remember most was that I was right about the issue, and my father would not accept new information that would help him see my point of view. That was the general character of the disagreement.
We were riding the train together to a prayer meeting in Krempe when it happened. As we discussed it, my father reacted far more forcefully than the issue required. He concluded by berating me severely and summarily imposing his will over mine. I suppose the roots of the conflict were in the impression that I was a boy with a mind of my own, and I had the temerity to express myself.
That is just a guess at this point in time, and my father is not here to clarify it. At the time, I knew his action was unfair, and it hurt me deeply. I could do nothing but submit to his authority and fall silent. We rode the last mile to Krempe in that stony kind of silence that says more than the argument itself.
Out of the smoldering atmosphere of our train ride we walked into the meeting room. There we put on our smiles, greeted everyone, and turned our minds toward worship. I played my guitar and led singing as usual. Then we received the list of prayer requests from those assembled.
Finally, we began to pray.
As the saints entered their prayer zone, Sister Eliese Köhler spoke up. “I see a vision,” she said, her voice rising with a quiver of anguish above the others. “I see a shepherd with his sheep on a meadow, but there is something wrong with the shepherd. He has his shepherd’s crook upside down in his hand. The crooked end is on the ground instead of upright. The crook, which is meant to protect the sheep, has injured one of the lambs.”
A deep and thoughtful silence followed.
Then I heard my father sob across the room. I looked up and saw that his head was in his hands. From where he sat he cried out, “Forgive me, Reinhard. I am sorry, son. Please, forgive me.”
I went to him and we embraced. Our tears flowed freely.
Everyone saw it. Together in Krempe, by the gifts of the Spirit, God was ironing wrinkles from our robes.
-Evangelist Reinhard Bonnke ( Living A Life Of Fire)