Two and a half years after what many called the Asbury Revival, I sat down with Zachery Meerkreebs, the pastor who was right in the thick of those sixteen extraordinary days. I confessed to Zach that when I first heard about the revival (we had never met, and didn’t meet for at least 7 months after) my first response was caution and a good dose of pessimism. In fact, I wrote about it and simply said, “time will tell.” Well, now we are 2.5 years later, and in a wild turn of events, Zach has become a dear friend and we get to talk about what time has told us about the revival in Asbury.
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What struck me most during the conversation wasn't his stories about miraculous encounters or packed altars, but his unflinching honesty about the "yuck" (in his words) that surfaced when God showed up.
"When the presence of God is in a place, your yuck comes to the top," Zach told me. "When the pressure comes, your yuck comes to the top."
This might be the most theologically profound thing anyone has said about revival. I know, it’s messy. It’s language you may not expect from a theologian or pastor, but its just true. Because here's what we don't talk about enough: God doesn't come to cancel our humanity. He comes to meet it, minister to it, and yes, even use it. And in order to do this, he exposes and deals with the parts of our humanity that are fragmented.
The “Yuck” We Don't Discuss
Zach's vulnerability about his own struggles during those days was refreshing, raw, and honest. He described staying up until sunrise, scrolling through social media, getting intoxicated by views and shares and likes. The very thing that was supposed to be about Jesus became, in those dark early morning hours, about him. The theological word we would use for this is, pride. Zach reflects on that moment saying:
"By the end of it, it was this conviction of like, ‘whoa, bro—you got intoxicated, Where's your heart? Is it gratitude that this is holy, or are you desperately wanting people to say something about you?’"
This is the stuff we sanitize out of our revival stories. We want clean narratives where God shows up and everyone becomes instantly holy. But Zach's honesty reveals a deeper truth: Authentic encounters with God don't simply eliminate our brokenness; they first illuminate it. In so doing, we can experience healing.
Zach shares that he had four meetings with his counselor during those weeks because he was struggling so much. Think about that. The guy helping facilitate a move of God needed a counselor. Not because something was wrong, but because something was right. The way to make it stay right is to deal with the mess within our humanity.
The Creator-Creature Distinction
What I love about Zach's perspective is how it roots us in our proper place as creatures.
"He's the creator, you're the creature," his mentor told him early in ministry. "As soon as you forget that, you're in trouble."
This creator-creature distinction isn't a theological nuance, it's the foundation of a well ordered world. When we try to transcend our creature-hood, we inevitably crash into anxiety, comparison, and the exhausting work of self-preservation. But when we embrace our limits, our need, our dependence, we find what Zach calls "permission to be human."
The marriage of humanity and humility, as Zach puts it, means being humble enough to own our flesh, our failures, our daily inability to be perfect. Instead of hiding it in pride (which is ultimately fear), we bring it to the right people, first to God, then to trusted friends who can help us process it.
Beyond the Formula
What frustrated Zach wasn't people's brokenness during the outpouring. It was how quickly it all became formulaic. People went back to their churches insisting they couldn't have lyrics or lights or sermon prep, as if they could capture lightning in a bottle by recreating the external conditions.
"Any move of God we turn into a thing," he observed. "When really, Jesus is in the captain's chair. He'll show up wherever he wants, with whoever he wants, however he wants."
This is Zach is so hesitant to even call Asbury a “revival.” Revival is something you can only identify in retrospect, by its fruit. What they experienced was an outpouring, a generous visitation from a Father who knows his children intimately and meets them exactly where they are.
The Antidote to Anxiety
Here's what struck me most: Zach has found in humility an antidote to our broken humanity. In humility, we stop hiding from the Father and start depending on him.
The gift of humility isn't self-deprecation or fake modesty. It's the gift of self-awareness that teaches us who God is, who we are, and how to love others well. I’ve personally come to the conclusion that humility is the soil in which all spiritual fruit grows and the Christian life is lived.2
Two and a half years later, Zach says he's more aware of his brokenness than ever. But instead of shame, there's freedom. Instead of hiding, there's honest dependence. Instead of performing for God, there's resting in the reality that God isn't disgusted by our humanity. No, he created it, is redeeming it, and wants to use it for our ultimate good and His glory.
Maybe that's the real revival we need: not the elimination of our humanity, but the sanctification of it.
Read my original post from 2023 (all my posts are free for the first 6 weeks. The entire archive is available for paid subscribers who support my theology and ministry work.)
Asbury Revival
“Revival, above everything else, is a glorification of the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God. It is the restoration of him to the centre of the life of the Church.” – Martyn Lloyd-Jones
Watch The Full Interview With Zach Meerkreebs.
Horne, Charles, and Julius Bewer. The Bible and Its Story: Gospels–Acts, Matthew to Apostles. Vol. 9. New York, NY: Francis R. Niglutsch, 1909.