Mezhusevi Zutso
Missionary Bible Teacher
The "Revival and Healing Festival" in Dimapur is genuinely historic and deeply moving. To see 100,000+ Nagas gathering under the name of Jesus—praying, worshiping, seeking God's face—is a powerful testimony to the spiritual hunger in our state. The vision and passion of the organizers deserves our gratitude and support. It stands as one of the most significant Christian moments in Nagaland's recent memory.
However, is this revival? Not yet.
But could it become revival? Absolutely—if we allow God to uproot the very sins we have tolerated for generations.
The Nagaland Behind the Stadium Lights:
Before we hype up anything and discern revival, we must name reality. Nagaland's problems are not mysteries—they stare us in the face: a Christianity that barely survives Sundays, corruption so normal we joke about it, tribalism so deep we pretend it is culture, injustice so deep we shy to speak up. Nagaland today is drowning in a depth of brokenness that no crowd size can hide. Beneath the surface of our christian religious identity lies a society corroded by corruption, fractured by tribalism, and wounded by our own hands.
And because of this reality, the question of revival in Nagaland is important. We must ask soberly and honestly: Is this revival, or is it a large and powerful gathering? A gathering reveals hunger, but revival produces transformation. A gathering can inspire people for a moment, but revival will reshape lives and transform a state for years. One can fill a stadium; the other will renew a society—spiritually, socially, and even politically because revival is wholistic. One is a moment; the other is a movement. It is important to discern and soberly reflect on what God may be beginning in Nagaland. This crowd can be the beginning of what so many of us have prayed and long for.
As this 100,000 crowd walks out the gates of the unfinished stadium—if the gates are already installed—they will walk straight into the Nagaland where they will walk pass the unfinished roads, nominal christians sleeping, shops selling mineral water, beautiful buildings built on bribes, doors designed with backdoor jobs, voices of vote-selling deals, whisper of tribal tensions, and the quiet sins no one wants to name. And this is where the real test of a true biblical revival begins. Revival is not proven by how loudly we sing inside the arena but by how honestly we live outside it; anyone can feel spiritual in a crowd, but only true transformation can confront the very sins we step back into, the moment the music stops. Revival is not only proven by how spiritual we felt, how loud we prayed or sang but importantly by the fruit that follows once we step into the real world. Revival is not just spiritual as many assumes but includes all spheres of our lives being rooted in the truth, justice, integrity of the word of God. And again I say, Revival is Wholistic.
Therefore, this gathering may well be a beginning, but it is certainly not the end. We may be witnessing the first sparks of revival—now we must tend the fire until it spreads. We cannot call it a revival yet, but it sure can be the start of one. Thinking of revival, out of many examples, two specific Bible stories come to mind that is important for Nagas to understand.
First is Zacchaeus, the diminutive chief tax collector who had lined his pockets through corruption, exploitation, and collaboration with Roman oppressors, climbing a tree just to catch a glimpse of Jesus. When Christ called him down and broke bread in his home, something broke open in Zacchaeus' heart. Without hesitation, he stood up and named his sin—fraud and extortion—then pledged to repay fourfold of everything he had stolen, a commitment that probably bankrupted him and cost him everything he had spent years accumulating (Luke 19:1-10). That is revival—costly, immediate, public repentance.
We see the same pattern in Ephesus. There was a revival in Ephesus (Acts 19:18-20). During the revival, those who practiced magic confessed and repented. And they brought out their magical books and burned them publicly which was worth 50,000 pieces of silver (approximately 13-14 years of wages), a staggering sum. This wasn't symbolic—these were valuable scrolls containing spells, incantations, and occult knowledge that represented both financial investment and spiritual power in Ephesian culture.
These stories give me hope, because they show that when God moves, people don't just feel different—they live different. And I believe God can do this in Nagaland. I've seen glimpses of it in individual lives. Now we're asking Him to do it across our entire state. This is the biblical pattern: in both stories revival isn't just measured by spiritual experience, emotional intensity, attendance numbers, or theological correctness alone, but by whether people are willing to make right what they have made wrong both in front of God and man. Nagaland cannot claim "Revival" unless we see something similar. And here are some popular fruits we need to see to say that "Revival is in Nagaland".
1. Nominal Christianity → Revival exposes fake and dry religion
We call ourselves the "Christian state," but church membership rarely matches discipleship. We know and speak the language of faith but not always the life of faith. Many have more Bible verses on their WhatsApp status than in their hearts. Most of us have Christianity by heritage, not by transformation—and we've settled for spiritual mediocrity. We have church members who come twice to church in a year, believers encroaching their neighbor's land on Friday and leading the church on Sunday, corrupt officials sponsoring church conferences while pastors praise God for "blessing" them with such generous members, youth leaders standing up to testify how faithful God is because they landed a government job their uncle arranged with a phone call.
There are already Nagas living with integrity in corrupt systems, believers choosing honesty over convenience, and churches genuinely discipling their members. Revival would multiply what God is already doing in faithful remnants across our state. True revival ends cultural Christianity and nominalism. Pastors will preach repentance, not convenience. Deacons and Elders will shepherd instead of manage. Believers will hunger for holiness, Scripture, and mission. It produces disciples—people who pray, obey, repent, and actually live like Jesus on weekdays, not just on Sundays. When revival breaks in, attendance is not the story—obedience is. Nominal Christianity will give way to genuine biblical discipleship marked with repentance, holiness, truth, and missions.
2. Corruption everywhere → Revival destroys corruption
In Nagaland, corruption is not just an "issue"; it is our collective sin, baptized and normalized. Students falsify documents to steal scholarships meant for the poor, backdoor government jobs are normal, tribes and clans run offices, projects disappear along with the funds meant to build them. Even the stadium for the "Revival Festival" stands unfinished because someone somewhere ate the money.
Perhaps it is God's hint: revival begins where the rot is deepest.
How tragic, and yet how strangely symbolic, that a place marred by corruption becomes the venue where thousands cry out for God. We've been trapped in these systems so long we've convinced ourselves they're normal—that everyone does it, that we have no choice. Revival breaks that lie and shows us we do have a choice.
When real revival happens, all of these will stop. We will have corrupted officers repenting publicly and giving back what they have gained through corruption (like Zacchaeus) or the children (who attended the festival) of corrupted officers confronting their parents and denying to use the wealth gained through corruption. Students will choose honesty over cheap pocket money. Contracts will be clean. Projects will be completed. Nepotism will be challenged. Backdoor appointees will leave their job and start giving exams. Revival doesn't sing praises around corruption; it suffocates it. When revival comes, corruption becomes too shameful to tolerate—not too convenient to keep.
3. Tribalism and division → Revival brings unity
We preach "one in Christ" but fight like enemies. Tribes compete, clans divide, and old grudges rule our relationships. Our unity often lasts only as long as our own tribe benefits. We unjustly hire our own, promote our own, and justify it as "taking care of our people"—while calling it fellowship, not favoritism. Revival doesn't dance around tribalism—it crushes it. When the Spirit truly moves, reconciliation replaces rivalry, and unity becomes more than a slogan for conferences. Revival makes tribal pride and tribalism feel as ugly as God has always seen it. Revival is when our diversity becomes our strength rather than our shame.
4. Selling votes → Revival cleans the conscience of a nation
Every election exposes one of our ugliest truths: we sell our votes, politicians buy their way to power, and we pretend it's normal. We treat elections like festivals of bribery, then complain that leaders are corrupt—as if we didn't help put them there. We trade our voice for ₹5000, then wonder why our roads stay broken. Revival makes it impossible to trade conscience for cash. People vote clean, leaders lead clean, and bribery loses its market. When revival comes, the ballot box becomes an altar—not a marketplace.
If true revival comes to Nagaland, it will transform many things—our land will look nothing like the Nagaland we currently know and live in. I'm not naive enough to think everything or every single person will change, but we're talking about more than 100,000 Naga Christians gathering, praying, and claiming revival has come. That's a staggering number. If this is genuine, we should expect to see concrete fruit in our churches, villages, schools, and government offices. I know revival doesn't fix everything overnight. Societal transformation takes time. But it should start something—a trajectory, a movement, a visible shift in how we live that grows over months and years. I am hopeful and I'm praying this happens, but until we see such fruit, let us be slow and sober in proclaiming revival has arrived.
Here's what gives me hope: the fact that 100,000 of us showed up proves we know something is broken. We wouldn't be crying out if we were satisfied. That dissatisfaction is a gift from God—it's the Holy Spirit making us restless for more than what we've settled for. When I see 100,000 Nagas crying out to God, I don't doubt their hunger is real. I don't question their desire for change. What I'm asking is whether we're willing to let that hunger cost us something beyond a weekend in Dimapur.
I am deeply invested in revival—I've prayed for it for years, taught about it, and studied its history both in Nagaland and around the world. Revival is a phenomenon that means far more than a powerful stadium gathering, no matter how large or moving. So I find myself grateful for what God is doing, moved by the hunger I see, yet cautious about premature declarations. Because if revival truly comes, it will not merely fill our stadiums—it will do much more.
So what do we do? We pray—earnestly, specifically, persistently. We examine our own lives for the sins we've normalized. We begin the work of repentance in our own homes, churches, and communities. We support those who are already living with integrity. And we watch—patiently, hopefully—for the fruit that will prove this gathering was not just a moment, but the beginning of God's long-awaited work in Nagaland. May this be the beginning of that long-awaited dawn.
