Mercy Incorruptible
Author: Katie Comiskey
May 06, 2024
My world was rocked when I
first heard the news about Mike Bickle’s sexual and spiritual abuse: I felt
sick to my stomach and disoriented.
I was surprised by how much
this news upended me. Nearly 20 years had elapsed since my internship at IHOPKC’s
Fire in the Night in 2006; I’ve changed a lot since then. (Heck, I became
Catholic almost a decade ago!)
IHOPKC did upend my life
for the good. I moved to Kansas City less than 24 hours after I graduated high
school because of DSM’s (my parents, etc.) partnership with IHOPKC. Just six
months later, I started my internship there as an 18-year-old hoping to catch
some of the fire.
This internship changed my
life. I like to say I was converted to Jesus there: though a Christian already,
my faith became real, my own, as I fell in love with Jesus praying night
after night in the prayer room. I apprehended something deep and true
about His love for me; He shook and shored up my foundations. I began cultivating
the fruit of spending this life in prayer and worship before His throne.
Then the dissonance: my
good experience and the wickedness still being revealed. How could such mercy
also be that toxic? A corrupt tree cannot produce good fruit.
Particularly grievous to
me was the complicity of Bickle’s cronies, those in positions of leadership who
turned blind eyes to a host of abuses, including Mike’s.
Leader of the FITN
internship—Stuart Greaves—broke me. I knew and loved him best. When the news
broke about Mike, I was assured that Stuart knew nothing. I had only
experienced Stuart as a man of integrity, worthy of trust, who shepherded us beautifully.
To read about Stuart’s
mishandling of sexual impropriety broke my heart. Him too? I don’t claim to
know the extent of what Stuart knew and did, including his intentions, but I do
know he was in over his head and was part of the problem. He refused to deal
with some abuses, which perpetuated them.
When the IHOP scandal first
broke, DSM was amid a 40-day prayer and fast (the irony wasn’t lost on any of
us). We mourned and prayed daily for IHOPKC. That kept my heart fresh in mercy:
still bewildered by the news, I prayed in earnest for Mike Bickle and IHOPKC. I too am
a duplicitous sinner, capable of evil. Who am I to not extend the same
mercy I received?
But as allegations
multiplied, each one worse than the next, disgust displaced mercy. ‘The whole
thing is corrupt! Let the fire on the altar burn it all down!’
Calmer now. Upon
reflection, my IHOPKC experience wasn’t perfect, just really good. The humble,
ragtag bunch that I prayed with night after night, interns and leaders alike, exemplified
a passionate pursuit of Jesus. They loved Him and helped me to love Him better.
I remember with gratitude
the amazingly gifted worship and prayer leaders who led us deep into the night
in humble and authentic devotion. They ushered me into the throne room; I
learned to prostrate myself in adoration before the Lamb that was slain. I want
that till I see Him face-to-face.
Such good fruit smells
like mercy, not decay: a fragrant inheritance borne of prayerful ones who
poured generously into me and the whole body of Christ.
Revisionist history isn’t
helpful. To deny the good I received from the prayer room rips something
essential out of my history; it also blunts the grief we bear with Christ over
the infidelity of His people.
Yet my good experience
doesn’t ameliorate the bad. It remains a tension, one I cannot reconcile,
but one I can offer to Jesus. I don’t want to grow bitter or cynical towards
the Bride.
IHOPKC upended me for good
and bad; Christ roots me back in His mercy. I offer the muck—the mixture of my
inheritance—to Jesus. He filters it through His nailed-pierced hands. He will
return to me the good, His mercy incorruptible.
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