Preparing for Revival: Cost, History, Leadership

Why did the Smithton Revival draw people from around the world?

A small rural church—built in 1859—became a locus where strangers flew in and pastors stood in long lines to enter. People did not come for novelty. They came because something visceral was happening: worship that melted hearts, an intensity of presence that made guests say they wanted to "melt like wax at the presence of the Lord." That image tells us what drew them—an encounter, not an event.

The practical anatomy of why people traveled is simple and messy. The services were long, genuine, and repeated five times a week; life rhythms shifted. People who had soccer practice in the evening began to drop it because they were more hungry for the meetings than for the pastime. The resulting commitment created a contagious gravity.

The Heart of It: The magnet of revival is the felt presence of God rather than programmatic polish.

Behind the Words: When people experience God as near and unavoidable, their priorities change quickly. Acts 2 describes a community unexpectedly filled with the Spirit at Pentecost—tongues and bold witness. In that original context an inward overflow immediately shaped outward mission: presence produced proclamation.

Try This: Picture your own midweek gathering. Now imagine someone from across the globe stepping into your door—what would they notice first? The program, or the hunger? Clear a place for prayer, lengthen a meeting, and invite people to stay longer than usual. Cultivate an environment where people can sense God's nearness.

This is not the same as rehearsed emotional manipulation. It’s the humble, expectant labor of a church that prays long, opens space, and refuses to treat holy moments as commodities. The small-town setting mattered: fewer cultural distractions, more communal attention, and a congregation willing to be present during extended services.

A vivid scene: imagine a gymnasium converted into a makeshift sanctuary. The scoreboard is dim. Kids who used to practice soccer linger on the bleachers, eyes wet, mouths quiet. A pastor speaks a single sentence, and an older man halfway across the room rises, walks down the aisle, and kneels. This is not entertainment; it’s the slow removal of the ordinary.

Common misunderstanding: Revival isn’t primarily a program you can copy; it’s a reordering of life by the Spirit that makes ordinary routines less compelling.

When we must be emptied: what is the true cost of revival?

Revival asks more than attendance. It asks for emptying. Someone who experienced a genuine outpouring said plainly, "I didn't need to be filled. I needed to be emptied." That is a hard, humbling truth. Emptied of pride, emptied of self-reliance, emptied of the neat boxes we build around worship and leadership.

Emptiness here is not about punitive sorrow but about readiness. Before a life can carry the weight of fresh grace, it must lose what keeps the room cluttered: self-sufficiency, reputational comfort, and fear of being vulnerable in public worship. The pastor who changed described feeling like he had lost his life in a way that allowed new life to grow. There was a valley—the wilderness season—where he could not even fight the assaults that came, and finally he confessed, in the raw, "For the first time in my life, I couldn't fight God." That hard saying forces us to ask: what do we fight God about when He says, "Come down, empty your hands?"

"Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.'" — Hebrews 13:5

The Heart of It: True renewal often costs our control before it yields God’s control.

Behind the Words: Hebrews 13:5 calls us away from the security of possessions and status into dependence on God's presence. When we cling to leadership, image, outcomes, and programs, we create barriers the Spirit must dismantle.

Try This: Practically, leaders step back from agendas, admit weakness, and make space for God to reorder priorities. Imagine clearing one evening a week of every program and advertising that it's a time for unstructured prayer. Tell the congregation, "We will come simply to seek God together." Watch who shows up and what shifts in family schedules and workplace conversations.

A pastoral scene: a leader who had been the charismatic center of a congregation suddenly found his voice hollow in prayer; he retreated to a hotel room and prayed through the night until he reached surrender. He returned different—lighter, more present, unexpectedly tender—because the Spirit had renewed his inner life. His congregation noticed the change first in his tenderness and then in their willingness to stay late, drop other commitments, and listen.

This cost is communal. Families rearrange calendars. Employers notice absenteeism not out of neglect but out of a new appetite for God. The economic and social rhythm of a place can be altered, and that's unsettling—especially for those who measure success by attendance numbers or donor lists.

Behind the Words: John 3:30—"He must increase, but I must decrease"—was John the Baptist's confession when his own following began to be eclipsed by Jesus. In that context, humility for a leader meant stepping aside so the Messiah’s work could grow.

Common misunderstanding: Emptiness is not moral failure; it is spiritual preparation. People often mistake the hard season preceding revival for divine abandonment rather than pruning for fruit.

How should church leaders prepare churches for revival?

Leadership matters. If revival breathes through a church, leaders are the ones who make room for that breath. But leadership for revival is not charisma alone; it's authenticity, endurance through the valley, and a willingness to be smaller. Hundreds of pastors came to one outpouring—many later admitted they came to be reshaped, not to pick up a new technique. Leaders came hungry to be melted, to be a candle that "melts like wax at the presence of the Lord." That question should make us ask: are we forming leaders who thirst to be melted?

Leaders must cultivate two capacities: the ability to endure long seasons of being out of control, and the skill to shepherd a community into practical surrender. The first is an internal discipline—quiet times, honest confession, and boundaries that prevent self-exalting rescue. The second is communal: teaching people to pray long, to prioritize presence over programs, and to foster a hunger for God that translates into attendance and service.

The Heart of It: Authentic leadership for revival practices humility and prepares people to rearrange life around God’s presence.

Behind the Words: Churches can mimic growth programs and produce polished programming without spiritual movement. Nehemiah shows a different pattern: steady work, prayer, confession, and practical effort aligned with spiritual dependence.

Try This: Convene a leaders' retreat focused on one question: "What are we unwilling to lose if revival comes?" Ask everyone to write a list, then pray over those things and consider how to release them.

Practical steps for leaders who want to prepare a church now:

• Reorder rhythms: carve a season—six weeks—of extended midweek gatherings for prayer and testimony.
• Teach hunger: preach on thirst and spiritual appetite, then give the congregation opportunities to respond without shame.
• Build a safe place for weakness: create support groups where leaders can say, "I can't fight God about this," rather than put on spiritual armor.

These are not campaign slogans. They are hard, relational practices that reshape culture. You will be tempted to measure success by attendance spikes; measure instead by how willing families become to cancel competing activities to be present.

Revival isn't an event we can schedule into our calendars like a conference. It starts with the quiet, costly work of being emptied and the stubborn, humble leadership that keeps returning to prayer even when nothing seems to happen. People were drawn to that small-town movement because the presence of God became more compelling than their routines. When one person confesses, "I couldn't fight God," grace meets that surrender and begins to reorder a life and, for a time, a whole community.

So what do we do tomorrow? We pray deliberately. We lengthen our gatherings. We teach hunger. We practice humility. And we make room—practically and spiritually—for God to rearrange what we thought was essential.

A last pastoral word: revival may demand that you give up more than a program. It may ask for time, reputation, and the comfort of control. But when the Holy Spirit presses in and people begin to "melt like wax at the presence of the Lord," we discover that what we surrendered was never worthy to hold against the glory that follows.