HOMESTEAD REVIVAL

There were three thousand people with their hands in the air, their hearts open, and the love of God in and all around us...

Something happened last night. Something that I’ve never experienced before, or honestly, ever thought I would.

It was a concert. And then it wasn’t. I was on stage with a bunch of friends, sharing some stories and singing some songs… and then I wasn’t.

Something bigger than a concert took place. Bigger than a singer. Bigger than a song.
It was much, much more than those things. It was a full-out revival. Or at least something that felt a lot like it.

I have been here in Texas with my family for most of the last week, spending time with all our dear friends here at Homestead Heritage, celebrating the Thanksgiving holiday and feast, and preparing for the Homestead Fair that is this weekend.

My part at the Fair this year—or at least the biggest portion (I also did a couple of fun book readings for kids and moderated two panels)—was to be part of the nightly concerts.

The past two years, I’ve come up on stage as a guest and performed one song. But this year, they invited me to host the concert. And more than that, to help them—and all of us in the church—try to weave a narrative in between the music. To help the thousands of people who would be in the audience better understand what this place is, who the people on stage are, and who live here and are part of this community. To try to share the bigger picture of what God has done in this place and in all of our lives.

To say I was more than a bit nervous about hosting the concerts is putting it lightly. I’ve been on stage and performing in front of large crowds for many years now, so that’s something I’m fairly used to doing. I rarely get nervous and am a pretty low-key sort of guy, so again, I rarely stress about stuff like this. But my stomach had been in knots for days. I wasn’t sure I belonged here. Actually, that’s not true. I knew I belonged here, with these people and this church, but I wasn’t sure I belonged on the stage with them in this way.

I had felt and expressed that perhaps we needed to share more than just music this year, and even offered to help in any way if they needed me to. And so, we all agreed to get out of our comfort zone and try something new. Together.

It wasn’t the singing of the three of my songs that was scary for me—it was all the things in the middle.

I wasn’t just going to be trying to share my story (although I did do some of that), I was going to be sharing our story—the story of what God has done to bring this community and church to be in the last 50-something years.

If you were at the Fair, I think you’d understand why there might be some questions. This place is unbelievable. I mean that in all ways. When you walk around the grounds and see all that is here, it’s almost overwhelming—how physically beautiful and inspiring it is—a sense that you have stepped not just back in time, but perhaps out of time completely.

But I think for many who come here, there is also a sense that surely this can’t be real. This—what seems like an oasis in the cultural wasteland that the majority of us live in—surely must be an act. “These people can’t be this nice. And surely they can’t really work together like this, or know how to do all these artisanal skills… and the love I feel all around me—well, it must be something else. Something other than love.”

For the past two days, the Fair has been going on. This Thanksgiving weekend marks the 38th consecutive Fair that they’ve put on. The first number of them were in Colorado, when the community was there. But since 1990, they’ve all been here in Texas. On a piece of brushland overlooking the Brazos River, just north of Waco. What began as a few families on and around the land—living in humble mobile homes dotted here and there because it was all they had or could afford—has, in the last four decades, grown to 1,200+ people living on or near where they began. And though a number of the mobile homes (many added onto or transformed into real homes) remain, what has sprung up all around is astounding.

And once a year (actually, more than a few times a year now), they swing open the virtual doors and invite anyone and everyone to come celebrate with them. With us. And the amount of people who come is almost overwhelming. On Friday alone, we had nearly 10,000 people come to the Fair. I’m not sure how many were here yesterday, but it was a whole lot.

And each of the days of the Fair culminates with an evening concert in the Heritage Center—a huge, state-of-the-art event center the community built a couple of years ago to better host the growing crowds that were coming to the Fair and to host other events throughout the year. Before that, the nightly music was always in large tents on the fairgrounds.

I missed that season of the Fair and of the community.

Although Joey and I first heard about Homestead Heritage in 2014, I didn’t make my first trip here until four years later. And it wasn’t until the ’23 Fair that Rebecca, Indy, and I got to come experience our first Homestead Fair—and it was then, at the last minute, they asked me if I’d like to get up and sing a song. And so I did. Which was very special for me, and I think for the folks who live here in Waco, too.

I was blessed to come again last year and to get to sing another song.

But this year was quite different. I wasn’t just going to sing a song or two—I was going to host the concerts.

A lot has happened since the first Fair we came to. I not only got baptized (in the smaller Montana community in July 2023) and became a member of the church, but Rebecca and I also got married in the community a few days later. And since then, our lives have taken many unexpected twists and turns. Most of them—at least publicly and career-wise—have been very challenging. The choices we made have not only affected our reputations and online following, but they’ve also been challenging for our larger family. We have seen many people we were close to before pull away and distance themselves from us. Friends that we’ve known and been close to for years have begun saying hurtful things about us and our choices—even though they’ve never asked us a single question or spent any time with us.

I’m not complaining—just trying to explain a bit of where we are and how we got here.

That said, the last couple of years have mostly been good. Really, really, really good. What God has been doing in my life and in our family’s life is nothing short of incredible. There has been a revival inside of me and inside of us—a light—a fire has been lit that I have been praying for and hoping for, for decades. And we’ve experienced a joy and peace that we’ve never known before. A peace in the midst of great chaos… much like what the Fair and this quiet little place here in Texas feel like, surrounded by the ear-splitting noise of the world around us.

It has changed me, and it continues to. This newfound light inside us keeps growing and giving us the courage and strength to keep stepping forward into the darkness, in spite of incredible adversity and resistance. And with each new step we’ve taken, we’ve experienced new life and new hope.

And so Friday night, we did our best to take a new step. And it was good. It was not great. It felt like we’d made some positive forward momentum in some ways, but I personally walked away wondering if I’d helped or if perhaps I’d lessened the beautiful music that they had always presented.

It wasn’t bad. It was probably even good. But still, I wondered if perhaps I should bow out and ask them if I could just watch from the audience instead…

You know those times when you’re in your head—when you’ve tried to do something hard and scary, and you’re hoping for clarity and victory when it’s over… and yet, after stepping out, you find yourself more insecure than before. Wondering if you were wrong. If you made the wrong choices in what you did or said, or by even being there at all.

But then last night. Oh, last night.

I wish you could’ve been there. It felt as if the roof almost lifted off the building. Like the lightning that we’d all seen in the approaching dark clouds above the grounds before the concert began had turned into a beautiful storm, and for a moment—for about 10 minutes actually—it felt as if God had reached down, removed the top of the Heritage Center, and come down and rested upon every one of us.

Three thousand people with their hands in the air, their hearts open, and the love of God in and all around us. Singing and praising Him with all they had. Tears streaming down most of our faces. Our voices rattling the rafters… transcending anything that those of us on stage were singing or saying.

I had never seen—or felt—anything like it before.

I was stunned. I think we all were.

When it was over… as the folks continued filing out the doors into the night—many of them, just like us, wondering what had just happened—a number of us from the band stood in a circle on the stage, hardly sure what to say other than “Thank you, God.” Knowing that He had done something here this evening. Something that we didn’t do. That He allowed us to be part of.

Something new. At least for me.

We hadn’t changed much from the way we’d done it the night before. Backstage before last night’s concert, we had decided to take out a couple of songs and add in a little of this or that. Nothing big.

But I had decided not to think this time. Not to try to figure it out. The night before had shaken me, and I was more insecure than ever.

And once I let go of the reins, the knots inside my stomach subsided. Even before the first song started, I felt a peace I had not felt the night before. My only thought was, “God, I don’t have this… You are going to have to do it.” My plan was to just be there. To be present and try to be helpful. To just be there with all of these incredible musicians on this stage and believe that He would show me how I fit into this beautiful evening. To trust that God would give us all the right words and the right hearts, so that He could be present.

And He did.

My family are still asleep.

I slipped out of bed early this morning and made my way here to this cup of coffee and booth in this nearby hotel lobby. I’m not even staying here.

I had to find a quiet place to collect my thoughts, to pray, and to try to write down and remember this moment. If for no other reason than to remind me—to remind all of us—that He is here. And He is at work in all of us. And that He has us here, where we are, with what we have… for a time such as this.

Let’s continue to step out in faith. Even when we’re scared. Even when our legs are shaky and we want to turn back. It’s then that we have to stop looking down and instead put our eyes on Him, and trust that He knows the way. That He is the way.

This morning I’m still not any clearer what it was that happened. But one thing I know for certain…

It was a big.

step.

forward.

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