The Spirit Moves

April 19th, 2025

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Disclaimer: I wrote this blog post around 3 a.m. on Saturday, April 19th. My best friend and housemate passed away that same night, on the other side of the wall we shared. This post is not going to directly, intentionally address the depth of love I have for Francisco, or the depth of love my community has for this soul—but what I wrote, while he was already gone or soon to go, is made both more painful and beautiful through this loss. Toward the end of this blog post, I explain why I have decided to take a break from my church. In the wake of our loss, I do not know what tomorrow will bring—much less next Sunday or the Sunday after that. All of this to say: I love you, and I am thankful to share this time with you, pain and beauty alike.

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The way I understand it, a piece of a Christian dies on Good Friday, to be brought back anew with Jesus on Easter. The road I had been walking came to an end on Friday, and I am writing this before we see Resurrection Sunday. What do you think is waiting there? I wonder how many times in our lives each of us has lived out the Jesus story in one way or another: a miraculous birth, patient growth, a forced escalation of our presence and ministry, the sweet spot—and then, before we know it, we find our best friends asleep in the garden… or worse. All of it leading us to the cross—ourselves, our work, our time—all of it hung for a crime we did not commit.

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Without Jesus, however, this is where the story ends. With Jesus, we understand that roads must come to an end in order to see heaven.

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Thank God for saving me—yet for a purpose still undefined.

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Returning to our trip in Oaxaca, there is more I would like to share. ​On day three of our trip, a weight of conviction hit us—one by one—and a great man stepped up to bare his conviction to the rest of our Minnesota team. He had repentance that he felt the Lord commanding him to make. So, in the quiet early morning hours, sitting in the warm shade of the All Peoples Church Oaxaca building, we took turns laying our sins bare and asking the Lord—and each other—for forgiveness.

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We had just completed acts of selfless service in the days prior, and here we were, convicted to lay the rest of ourselves down. Outside, I had seen men and women carrying five or six large black trash bags on their backs throughout the morning. It was garbage day, and for us, it was time to take out the trash. This spiritual unloading made space for Christ to enter deeper parts of our hearts and souls—through both an intimate connection with our Heavenly Father and through the essence of God living in those we walked alongside that week.

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This was the Jesus story.

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Our team spent two days speaking with strangers on the streets—inviting them to church, to an upcoming worship night, and asking if they knew Jesus or wanted prayer. I will never forget the young man we met on a bench in the middle of a busy park square. Earlier, I had asked the Lord to reveal someone: a young, troubled soul—full of righteous passion but missing the relationship with God that turns passion into works of praise.

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This man asked us to pray for the animals. He told us that Mexico is well known for factory farming and other violent acts toward our beloved creatures. We asked if he would fight alongside us, and he responded that he had only ever known loneliness. As our translator spoke, I prayed in silence—for Francisco to walk over from out of the crowd, to help us share with this man that he is not alone, and that through God, his people would be revealed.

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And then Francisco walked up.

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Francisco shared how the Lord had helped break him out of isolation—to find community—and in doing so, the people he was meant to serve alongside. We never saw that stranger again, but I felt the Holy Spirit move. I believe the Spirit told him that his self-defeat and isolation were hung up on the cross—that his Jesus story was being born anew. This is what I believe.

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We received an update just a few days ago regarding another experience. This word is a testimony that shows all we do is ultimately God’s work, not our own. It is His work to convict, to save, and to inspire. We simply play the part our Lord intends.

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During the event at the start of the week where we brought clothes and the Gospel to families living through the process of poverty, I stepped outside. I thought if there was just one more person I could invite, it would be worth missing out on the games and laughter. Then I saw a young woman walking down the street. She was young, beautiful, and dressed all in black. I was overwhelmed with the feeling that she had begun prostituting herself. As she walked past, I froze—concerned with the optics of me approaching her. She walked down the street and disappeared behind a corner… and then came back as quickly as she had gone.

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The second time she passed in front of me, I knew God was moving. I asked a man and a woman in a nearby storefront to explain to her that we were having a church event with free clothes, games, and a message of hope. The small scene I had created there was overwhelming, and she politely, abruptly left. I was deflated. Even though I knew my spirit was true, what an awkward mess I had created. Well—she joined us thirty minutes later with her mother.

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I had the opportunity to pray for her alongside one of the full-time staff members from APC Oaxaca who had moved from San Diego when the church was started. The young woman dressed in black shared about her dad’s alcoholism, and I shared about my own history of drug and alcohol abuse—that my spirit was truly dead when Jesus found me—and it is only because of Him that I was standing there.

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I told her that within her, a new season of spring awaited her family, because of her strength to listen and obey the Spirit.

Most of the time, we cannot know anything beyond our initial conversations and our first reactions to how we feel the Gospel was received. This time was different. This time, we received an update.

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Just a few days ago, we got word that a young woman and her mother who had been at the event had started attending the local Lifegroup—and they had both given their lives to Jesus.

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The Spirit moves.

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Returning home has been filled with hardship. A return to the gross overconsumption of American society, work that feels scarcely rewarding aside from the people I work with—and loss. Some dear friends have decided to step away from All Peoples Church. This family has become my family. I had a prophetic dream about them leaving several months ago, and in the dream, I left too. And now I leave too.

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My reasons are my own, and far different from those of my friends.

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I have begun gardening already. I have dozens of plants inside, catching the sunlight and growing fast in order to be ready for an early spring. I have to keep an eye on the plants, because some will grow bigger faster than their neighbors, and this will throw the others into shade.

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We are those plants—and sometimes, we have to move to new soil, even though it breaks our hearts. We are in love with the plant we have been growing beside, but now there is a shadow—God’s truth through nature saying it is time to move on.

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And so where the Spirit moves, I will follow.

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If the Spirit catches you, and puts into your heart a curiosity to explore a deeper relationship with your Heavenly Father, All Peoples Church Twin Cities will be a Godsend. Perhaps I will be able to join again one day, when this Jesus story in my own life has found its way to the cross, and new life is born to the shadowless.

 

With so much love you couldn't possible imagine,
Bryan