Katie Comiskey
Mercy Incorruptible
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.Â
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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!)
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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.Â
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.
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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.Â
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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.  Â
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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.Â
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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. Â
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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?
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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!’ Â
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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.
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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. Â
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.  Â
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