It is being called "the fresh anointing" and another Pentecost, and it is sweeping not only the traditional Pentecostal and Charismatic groups, but is now bringing mainstream evangelicals under its sway. It is known by many as the so-called "Laughing Revival."

Much of the impetus for this popular phenomenon comes from a movement that C. Peter Wagner, professor at the Fuller School of World Mission, calls "the Third Wave" of God's Spirit. According to Wagner, a pro­ponent of the movement, the First Wave was the rise of modern Pentecostalism in the early decades of this century. The Charismatic movement of the '60s represented the Second Wave. But now, churches that were once quite opposed to such phe­nomena have embraced them in this Third Wave. Through the influence of the Vineyard movement, led by John Wimber, Peter Wagner, and the like, the Third Wave has become a world-wide phe­nomenon.

Like classic Pentecostalism, the Third Wave adopts the theological perspective that the Baptism of the Holy Spirit is a separate gift that only some Christians possess. In fact, the Christians who possess this blessing are those who accept Pentecostal teaching. Those who accept the "anointing" evidence their being filled with the Holy Spirit by speaking in ecstatic utterances, falling, shaking, barking, roaring, and by physical acts of heal­ing. According to David Barrett, a respected researcher, there are 20 mil­lion believers worldwide who now fall into this Third Wave pattern.

These phenomena are noth­ing new. Not only are they present in other religions; they have occurred from time to time throughout church history. Last time, we dis­cussed the origins of Gnosticism, an ancient heresy that divided the world into spirit and matter and emphasized mystical experi­ence over the Word and sacraments. Later, in the 3rd century, a movement arose known as Montanism, after the founder, Montanus, who, along with two women prophetesses, claimed to speak in tongues and receive direct revelations from the Spirit. These prophets' failed predictions concerning the return of Christ and the church's official condemna­tion did not deter them from gathering numerous follow­ers.

Throughout the Middle Ages, Pentecostal sects pro­liferated and at the time of the Reformation, Luther, Calvin and the other reform­ers not only had to square off against the Church of Rome but against the "spiritualistic" Anabaptists as well. In fact, Calvin insisted that although they were deeply opposed on the surface, Rome and the Anabaptists were more alike than either was willing to admit. Neither group clearly and emphatically proclaimed salvation by grace alone through faith alone because of Christ alone and both groups, though claiming alle­giance to the Word, buried it under the superstitions and revelations of so-called prophets.

While the Reformation was obsessed with recovering the essential message of the Gospel as the power of God unto salvation, the sectarian enthusiasts were convinced that what the church needed more than anything else was power of a different kind ­the power of signs and won­ders.

Two centuries later, just before her War of Independence, America experienced the Great Awakening, led by Jonathan Edwards and George Whitefield, among others. This great awakening began when Edwards began preach­ing a series of sermons on God's free justification of sin­ners and all of the evangelists of the Great Awakening credited the success of this movement to the Holy Spirit's use of this saving message. When, in the later phases of the movement, strange phenomena began to take place — such as barking, laughing, leaping, and claims to special revelation ­Edwards and Whitefield quickly criticized such excess­es.

One thing we learn from church history is that every time God does something to call his people back to the Gospel, the devil is always close at hand to quickly dis­tract the attention of God's people to something other than this Gospel as the source of the Spirit's awaken­ing power. When the apostles gained success, Simon Magus begged Peter to sell him miraculous power to heal. "May your money perish with you," the apostle snapped. The Montanists attributed the successes of the early church to their prophetic revelations and when the Reformation re­awakened Christendom to the truth of God's Word, the enthusiasts credited their zeal with the triumph over Roman error. Then the Great Awakening, though initiated by the proclamation of for­gotten Gospel truth, was quickly co-opted by fanatics who recklessly separated the Spirit from the Word and emphasized emotional excesses as signs of revival.

So, here we are again. It may be called the "Third Wave," but it's an old, old story. It's the story of human­ity striving to climb into God's glory by ropes of sand. It is much more exciting for some people to ascend into the realms of Paradise by ecstatic encounters than to receive God in the person and work of Jesus Christ. We are more enchanted by the possibilities of the manifesta­tions of the Spirit here and now than by the doing, dying, and rising of the Messiah 2,000 years ago. "We don't want to focus on what God did in the past," say Gnostics new and old. "It is what he's doing right now that excites us."

In her book defending the "Laughing Revival," Mona Johnian argues that the "joy" of the Lord requires us to manifest spontaneous laugh­ter, roaring, clapping, and shouting in church services. If we do it at sporting events, why not at church? she asks. How can we deny the experi­ence of so many believers who testify to having changed lives through suddenly being overwhelmed with uncontrol­lable laughter? Even more seriously, she warns, "Churches that resist the demonstrations of the Spirit, however unwittingly, quench the flow of the Spirit. Unwittingly or not, these churches encourage those who take counsel against the Lord and his anointed." Attributing confusion and disorder to this movement is "to walk dangerously close to blasphemy," and she cites Jesus's warning concerning the unpardonable sin. Are critics simply traditionalists, like the Pharisees, or is this just one more manifestation of hyper-spiritual fanaticism?

Johnian also writes that, "Joy allows the mind to cir­cumvent the senses so that we are able to see our cir­cumstances from a bigger, spiritual picture ... God longs to make a show of His glory through a Church caught up in 'ecstasies of joy." She compares it to sports events. Why is this a false analogy? She refers to Phil. 2, concern­ing Jesus, "who for the joy set before him endured the cross..." But this very pas­sage counters her notion of "joy." Whatever "joy" is, Jesus's joy had nothing to do with giddy laughter breaking out at spontaneous intervals. It was grave, serious, and even fearful joy. Note the passages she herself adduces (p. 36). Isn't it interesting that reverence and fear are associated by Pentecostals with the flesh, but happiness and joy are associated with the Spirit? In Scripture, is there such a division? Isn't one of the most common expressions of godly worship in Scripture awe and rever­ence? To be sure, there is a sinful fear, but there is also a sinful happiness. Even a purely natural happiness that is not sinful but is neverthe­less not motivated by the Holy Spirit. Disneyland is called by its marketing team, "The Happiest Place On Earth."

Having said all of that, it isn't as if the orthodox are without fault either. In these great movements of God throughout history — the suc­cesses of the early church over Gnosticism, the triumph of the Reformation, and the wonders of the Great Awakening, there was a deep sense that the Holy Spirit was doing something that was dramatic. Through the preaching of the Word and the administration of the sacraments, the Holy Spirit was bringing those spiritual dead to life, turning God's enemies into friends, bringing forgiveness to those who had no hope of pardon. When they gathered together in community, believers expect­ed to encounter the Holy Spirit in all of his supernatu­ral power through the ordained means.

But all too often, these great periods are followed by long intervals in which believers exhibit the error against which the Apostle Paul warned: "Having a form of religion, but denying its power." The form of religion is its doctrines, its liturgy, its way of worshipping God through Word and sacrament, and its godly piety.

Without the Spirit, the unre­generate cannot understand the things of God, we are told in Scripture, and we end up with a generation of nominal Christians. This always leads to an opposite reaction, as people rise up in the church weary of spiritual mediocrity. One side adopts the form of religion without the power and the other runs with power divorced of the form.

What we are seeing in our day is understandable in one sense. God no more wants us to live without the Spirit than he wants us to live without sound doctrine, but Scripture insists that we can't really have one without the other.

Those who divorce the Word from the Spirit or the Spirit from the Word, those who tear the form of religion from its power or its power from its form, are equally guilty of rendering Christianity some­thing other than Christianity. But we don't simply want to throw stones; we also want to emphasize the importance of the Holy Spirit. The problem is, once we reject the Pentecostal theology underneath these spiritualistic movements, we are immediately charged with being anti‑Holy Spirit or opposed to the work of the Spirit. What we are opposed to is a sectarian, individualistic, subjective, man-centered, and manipulative view of the Spirit that ends up undermining the very Word that the Holy Spirit inspired and was sent to empower the church to proclaim.