The Herd Mentality and the Call to Swim Against the Current
In July 2005, in Eastern Turkey near the village of Gevas in Van province, something astonishing happened. A group of shepherds had left their flock of about 1,500 sheep to have breakfast. During that time, one sheep wandered off a cliff, and every single one of the others followed. It’s a chilling picture of herd mentality , not just among sheep, but a profound metaphor for humanity.
We see this throughout history and even in our own day. People instinctively believe there’s safety in numbers, but the crowd can and mostly are terribly wrong.
One story from 9/11 that has always stayed with me is of two men who were above the impact zone of one of the towers. Very few people survived from above the crash site. These two did, and their story speaks volumes.
As they made their way down a heavily damaged stairwell, they came upon a group of 14 to 20 people heading upward. The men pleaded with them, “Don’t go up, there’s no rescue coming from the roof.”
But some in that group were being swayed by charismatic voices insisting that helicopters would come, that rescue was possible if they just went higher. But they were wrong. Helicopters couldn’t reach the roof because of the intense smoke and heat, and the rooftop doors were locked. Everyone who followed that advice died.
The two men who chose the hard way down , they lived.
That’s the herd mentality again. A subtle, collective pull toward what seems right, especially when others are doing it. But real awareness, real wisdom, often means resisting the flow.
Nazi Germany is another sobering example. A woman in a documentary from the 1960s was asked why she attended Hitler rallies. Her answer has never left me: “There was something in the atmosphere, and we all breathed it in.”
That’s the crowd again. That’s the spirit of the age, the zeitgeist, and it’s often strong enough to sweep entire nations away. Not everyone agreed with the Nazis, but most went along. They gave the salute, kept their heads down, and refused to stand out.
I remember once the Lord said to me, “Frank, if you’re running with the crowd, you’re running in the wrong direction.”
There are two rivers in this life.
The river of God, the river of life, where we are called to be immersed, not just ankle-deep or knee-deep, but swept up and carried by the Spirit of the Lord.
“And he measured one thousand cubits, and brought me through the waters, the water came up to my ankles. Again he measured one thousand and brought me through the waters, the water came up to my knees. Again he measured one thousand and brought me through, the water came up to my waist. Again he measured one thousand, and it was a river that I could not cross, for the water was too deep, water in which one must swim, a river that could not be crossed.” — Ezekiel 47:3–5, NKJV
And then there’s the river of this world, strong, dark, and swift, and we are called to swim upstream, against its flow.
We are not meant to follow the crowd off a cliff. We are called to be a peculiar people, a royal priesthood, a chosen generation. We are pilgrims and strangers in this land, never quite fitting in.
There are two overarching paths that lie before us, as stated by Jesus. One is the broad road that leads to destruction, and many will go in by it — the crowd. The other is the narrow gate and the difficult way that leads to life, and few will find it — the remnant.
“Enter by the narrow gate, for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it.” — Matthew 7:13–14, NKJV
We are those who hear the voice of the Spirit through the Word of God, who see and understand and stand, even if we stand alone.
Let us be voices that warn. And more than that, let our walk be our light and a lamp of direction to others. The word of God is a lamp to our feet, it leads us and guides us in the way that we should go.The Kingdom of God is found along the narrow path that runs counter to the world.
We encourage one another, it is a beautiful thing, a sacred rhythm in the Body of Christ. It has been the highest privilege of my life to minister to the few, those precious souls who once believed they were utterly alone. They are the ones who, at great personal cost, have come out from the organized church, misunderstood, maligned, and often mistrusted. They have been accused of elitism, of arrogance, even of falling away, when in truth, they could no longer endure the weight of a system that quenched the very Spirit they were called to walk in.
These are they who began in the Spirit, and, like Paul’s plea to the Galatians, refused to be perfected by the flesh (Galatians 3:3). They yearn to hear not the rebuke, “O foolish Galatians,” but rather the commendation, “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:21). They seek to gather where the Spirit is free to move, where the saints may truly fulfill the exhortation of 1 Corinthians 14, that all may speak, all may learn, all may be encouraged, and the gifts be exercised for the edification of the whole.
They long to walk simply, with humility before God and sincerity before men (Micah 6:8). In their gatherings, Christ alone is exalted, Jesus, the Lord of glory, lifted up as the only Head, the only Shepherd, the only One who is preeminent (Colossians 1:18). There are no stars, no stages, only saints, broken and burning, desiring nothing but Him.
Yet to walk this way, there has been a call, an unrelenting summons from the Lord, “Come out from among them and be separate, says the Lord. Do not touch what is unclean, and I will receive you” (2 Corinthians 6:17). This is the remnant road, walked not in bitterness but in obedience, not in pride but in pursuit of the living God, Christ in us, the hope of glory.
You know, tomorrow is Pentecost (I wrote this a few weeks ago) And like many sacred things in the church, we have made a symbol of it. We have reduced it to a ritual, a religious observance marked by a date on the calendar. Pentecost, like Christmas or Easter, has become a ceremony. But, brothers and sisters, let me tell you plainly, that is not what it was meant to be.
Pentecost was not a celebration of a day. It was the arrival of a Person. The Holy Spirit descended like fire from heaven. As the Word declares, “Then there appeared to them divided tongues, as of fire, and one sat upon each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit” (Acts 2:3–4, NKJV).
That moment was not meant to be memorialized once a year, it was meant to revolutionize every day. One encounter with the baptism of the Holy Spirit transforms a life utterly. It sets the heart ablaze and loosens the tongue with boldness. It becomes the source of power that causes the devil to flee. It strengthens our feet for the narrow way, “Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it” (Matthew 7:14, NKJV).
The Spirit enables us to pass through valleys, to climb spiritual mountains, to face the enemy of our souls. Not with trembling but with power. For “greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world” (1 John 4:4, NKJV). Pentecost is not a date, it is a way of living, it is heaven’s breath within us, propelling us forward in divine strength.
Jesus Himself declared, “I came to send fire on the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled” (Luke 12:49, NKJV). And John the Baptist testified of Christ, saying, “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (Luke 3:16, NKJV). This fire, I believe, was taken from the coals of the heavenly altar, the very presence of God, and placed upon frail men.
And what happened? Those few, filled with that fire, “turned the world upside down” (Acts 17:6, NKJV). They did not wait for a Sunday. They did not look to feast days. They carried Pentecost in their bones, in their breath, and in their speech. They were pierced by power and spoke so that “when they heard this, they were cut to the heart” (Acts 2:37, NKJV).
You must be born again. You must be baptized in the Holy Spirit. You must have the fire of God within. Without Him, Christianity becomes religion, an empty shell. But with Him, it becomes life and that more abundantly (John 10:10, NKJV).
For it is the God who commanded light to shine out of darkness, who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ (2 Corinthians 4:6, NKJV).This divine command, “Let there be light,” echoes not only through the void of creation, but through the depths of the human soul, awakening the dead and igniting the flame of divine revelation within frail vessels of clay.
And these vessels, earthen, vulnerable and mortal, contain within them a treasure beyond comprehension, so that the surpassing greatness of the power may be shown to be of God and not of us (2 Corinthians 4:7, NKJV).It is in this paradox, this sacred tension, that the furnace of affliction becomes the forge of transformation. We are summoned into the crucible, not to be consumed, but to be refined, not to be broken, but to be remade in the image of the Son.
Pressed on every side, yet not crushed, perplexed, but never abandoned to despair, persecuted, yet never forsaken, struck down, but not destroyed (2 Corinthians 4:8–9, NKJV). This is the holy pattern, the bearing of the dying of the Lord Jesus in our bodies, that His life, resurrected and victorious, might also be manifest in us (2 Corinthians 4:10, NKJV).
The flesh suffers and is scourged that the Spirit might rise, the outward man perishes so that the inward man may be renewed day by day (2 Corinthians 4:16, NKJV).This, indeed, is the Christian mystery, that the path to life is through death, and the ascent to glory begins with the descent into suffering.
For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory (2 Corinthians 4:17, NKJV).We do not fix our eyes upon what is seen, for what is seen is fleeting, mortal dust swept along by the winds of time. No, we set our eyes upon the eternal, upon the unseen, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God.
It is there, in the realm of eternity, that power is born, the power to endure, to overcome, to rise from the ashes with beauty unspeakable.Peter walked upon the waters while his eyes were locked upon the gaze of his Master. And he began to sink the moment he turned his attention to the storm (Matthew 14:29–30, NKJV).
So it is with us, brothers and sisters. When we look to Christ, we walk in divine power, power to break chains, to still the storm, to raise the dead things to life.Even in the fire, He is with us.“Look!” he answered, “I see four men loose, walking in the midst of the fire, and they are not hurt, and the form of the fourth is like the Son of God” (Daniel 3:25, NKJV).
As with the three Hebrew children, the world may peer into the furnace and behold One like the Son of God walking amidst the flames in the midst of our circumstances.And the testimony shall rise, not only from our lips, but from our lives, that this, indeed, is the God of heaven (Daniel 3:28–29, NKJV).
Shall our lives not speak of such glory, saints? Shall our lives not bear testimony of the majesty that resides in us, the Lord Jesus? In the crucible, which is our lives, may our heavenly treasure pour forth as we are poured out for His sake.
The apostolic revelation given to Paul, as recorded in Colossians 1:26, presents one of the most profound disclosures in redemptive history—a mystery once concealed from ages and generations, now gloriously revealed to the saints. This mystery, long hidden in the counsels of God, was not perceived by the prophets nor comprehended by the wise of this world. It is the astounding truth that in Christ Jesus, Jew and Gentile are no longer divided, but made one—a new humanity, a single body in the Messiah. This is the long-anticipated fulfillment of the promise to Abraham, that in his seed all the nations of the earth would be blessed. No merely ethnic boundary remains, for in Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek. This is a revelation of cosmic consequence and divine ingenuity, wholly unforeseen in its breadth and intimacy.
Yet, astonishingly, the mystery deepens. As Paul continues in Colossians 2:2–3, he reveals that the purpose of this unity is not an end in itself, but a divine conduit by which the saints are brought into the very heart of God. He prays that their hearts might be encouraged, being knit together in love, and that they may attain to all the riches of the full assurance of understanding—to the knowledge of the mystery of God, both of the Father and of Christ.
Herein lies the surpassing dimension of the mystery: not merely reconciliation between former enemies, but an invitation into divine communion. In Christ are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. Through union with Him, the veil is lifted and the Father—once unknowable and inscrutable—is made known. The mystery begins with the joining of the divided, but it climaxes in the revelation of the Divine. It is not only that Jew and Gentile are made one in Christ, but that in being made one, they are ushered into the very life of God.
This is the formation of the true Israel of God—a people sanctified, a royal priesthood, whose minds are being renewed and whose hearts are being enlarged by the Spirit. The saints are not left with mere doctrine, but are drawn into the riches of divine intimacy, discovering the boundless wisdom and knowledge hidden in Christ. This is the full arc of the mystery: reconciliation leading to revelation, unity giving way to glory, and the Church—Christ’s body—growing in grace as it beholds the face of God in the person of Jesus Christ.
One of the most tragic realities of the contemporary church, most glaringly within the American context, yet by no means confined to it, is the widespread absence of the new birth among professing Christians. This foundational deficiency renders it utterly impossible for such individuals to love as the early church loved, for the very source and sustainer of that love is Christ Himself. It is He who binds believers together in divine unity.
The church, properly understood, is not a building, a denomination, or an institution, it is the living body of Christ. And unless one has been joined to that body through regeneration, one simply does not belong to the Church in the true, biblical sense, the ekklesia, the “called-out ones.”
It is spiritual folly to expect those outside of Christ, unregenerate and untouched by the Spirit of God, to manifest the supernatural love that defined the earliest believers. This love flows not from religious duty or communal sentiment, but from the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit.
Oswald Chambers, in his meditations on the Sermon on the Mount, rightly observed that any attempt to live out Christ’s teachings apart from the new birth results in a miserable experience. For the unregenerate, the Sermon is not a light but a crushing burden, a lofty ideal that exposes the impossibility of genuine righteousness without divine transformation.
Religion, absent the life of Christ, becomes little more than a philosophy, a system of ethics, or a cultural form. It may produce momentary acts of kindness, but it cannot sustain the sacrificial, Spirit-wrought love of the saints. This love, that bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things, does not arise from human effort but from the supernatural work of God in the soul.
Thus, what many interpret as disunity in the church is, in truth, the presence of multitudes who are members of religious organizations, but not members of Christ’s body. They are, at best, moralists striving in their own strength, at worst, deceived souls clinging to the form of godliness while denying its power.
The Scriptures are not silent on this. “Many are called, but few are chosen” (Matthew 22:14). The remnant, the few, are the truly born again, those who love with a love not their own, who recognize one another not by label or denomination, but by the Spirit of Christ within. When these encounter one another, there is immediate fellowship, unfeigned and deeply rooted in shared life.
To expect widespread spiritual unity in a landscape dominated by nominalism is to set oneself up for continual disillusionment. Indeed, the gap between our expectations and the reality of the religious world around us is often the precise measure of our grief.
But if we understand this reality, that true unity and true love exist only among the regenerate few, we will cease to be disheartened by the failures of the masses and instead rejoice to find, here and there, a brother or sister truly alive in Christ. For these are the Church. These are the Body. These are the beloved of God.
A couple of days ago, I found myself praying through the pain. The weight of chronic suffering pressed hard against my body, sleepless nights, relentless aches, and then came the news: my mother, already fragile, had fallen again, twice in three days. Now she lies in a hospital bed back in Scotland, and I feel the ache of distance more deeply than the pain in my bones.
But in the middle of this storm, our little fellowship had just been walking through Colossians 1, and Paul’s words struck deep: “Strengthened with all might, according to His glorious power, for all patience and longsuffering with joy.” Oh, what a mystery! That in our weakness, we are strengthened, not by our own feeble will, not by grit or determination, but by all might, according to His glorious power. It is Christ. It is all Christ. His strength, His might, His glory. He initiates, He enables, and in Him, we become more than conquerors. And as this truth ignited my spirit, a prayer rose from the depths, a cry not of despair but of victory, and it thrilled my soul and lifted me high, far above the valley, to a place where joy and power meet on the mountaintop of faith. Glory to God!
……………………This was my prayer……….
When every last breath is torn from my lungs, still, I will give You the kiss of life. When I have tasted no food for many days, my soul shall yet feed the hungry. When the sun has hidden its face and the heavens remain cloaked in silence, I will lift my face to You, and You, O Radiant One, will shine through me. And when my heart is heavy with sorrow and anguish drowns my soul, I will break the alabaster jar of joy and pour it out upon the weary. O Lord of Heaven and Earth! Even in the testing, even in the fire and the fury, even in the shadow of death and in the long-suffering of my pain, let me be a blessing. Let me bless them from the prison of that pain. Let me lift them from the depths of my own valley. If they are halfway up the mountain and I am still far below, let them hear my song rise from the depths:Glory to God. Glory to God!
And may the valley blaze with the light of that glory. Let the darkness tremble. Let chains be shattered. Let the echo of praise thunder through every cavern, For You, O King, are worthy in fire and flood, in feast and famine. Majesty in the valley. Majesty on the mountain.
If I can rejoice in the midst of suffering, then I stand at the threshold of a sacred mystery, that place where I, in my own frail flesh, “fill up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ… for the sake of His Body.” Only the soul saturated and drenched in the Spirit of the Living God, can rise in the midst of wreckage of loss and cry out with trembling lips, “The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord!” This is no mere endurance, no stoic stance, it is a sacred participation in the sorrow and the splendor of Christ. It is the fellowship of His suffering. A communion few will dare to enter, too costly for most, and yet it is the very ground where heaven bows down and kisses the wounded earth
When heaven collides with earth, then it enters into sorrow. How could it be otherwise? One is perfect, the other a ruin of its original. And we, we who have been born from above, have been invaded by that very heaven. It fills our bones. It saturates our hearts. And in that collision we begin to drink from the same bitter cup our Lord once drank. We are not spectators. We are not distant. We are His Body, and so we must enter into that same sorrow, that way of suffering, and there we must rejoice in the midst of it all. And the joy we share, as we tarry there, begins to tear down the kingdom of darkness.
Our joy is the indelible, supernatural fingerprint of heavens glory that lies within us. Our brokenness, shattered by a dying world, becomes the sacred fissures through which the glory of God bursts forth. And as that glory pours forth, it kisses the wounded earth, and it becomes a balm of Gilead. It is the fellowship of His suffering. It is the communion of the afflicted. It is the royal priesthood of the scarred and the sanctified. A holy nation, set apart, bearing upon our very bodies the marks of our King. Not in shame, but in triumph. Not in defeat, but in everlasting victory.
I find myself increasingly dismayed by the widespread lack of discernment concerning not only the papacy but the Catholic Church as a whole. Speaking as a former Catholic, one who departed from the Church upon experiencing a genuine conversion, a born-again encounter with Christ. I am particularly troubled by the growing acceptance of Catholicism among Protestant and Evangelical circles that, only a few decades ago, would have maintained a clear separation. The shift over the past 25 to 30 years is both significant and concerning.
Research indicates that there are at least 20 million former Catholics in the United States alone. Of these, studies suggest that approximately 80–90% departed after undergoing a born-again experience. If we extend these figures to South America, the number nearly doubles, approaching 50 million individuals across the Americas who have left Catholicism for similar reasons. When extrapolated globally, the figure could be closer to 100 million. There is, therefore, a profound and deliberate reason why so many now identify as “ex-Catholics,” myself included, and I do not hesitate to affirm that designation.
The widespread failure to recognize these realities, in my view, correlates closely with the phenomenon commonly referred to as the “Great Falling Away” a time marked by diminishing spiritual discernment, widespread biblical illiteracy, and the dilution of Protestant witness, which has become but a shadow of its former vitality. This erosion continues largely unabated.
The idea that the head of the Catholic Church, the Pope, could be regarded as a born-again believer is, in my estimation, theologically untenable and historically absurd. This is to say nothing of the longstanding doctrinal errors promulgated by the Catholic Church, foremost among them the dogma of transubstantiation. The claim that a priest has the authority to transform a piece of bread into the literal body of Christ not only defies plain scriptural teaching but also strains credulity to the utmost. Such a claim, divorced from biblical foundations, highlights the extent of the doctrinal chasm.
Given these concerns, I have deliberately refrained from engagement with recent papal funerals, elections, and public commentary surrounding the pontificate. I am personally persuaded that the figure of the Pope, whether the present or a soon-coming successor, will fulfill the prophetic role of the False Prophet, one who will direct the world to the Antichrist, declaring him to be the true Christ. In a world that increasingly regards the Pope as the de facto figurehead of Christianity, reverently referring to him as the “Holy Father” and the “Vicar of Christ,” such developments seem to me to be falling into place with alarming predictability.
Then Moses stood, trembling before the living God and cried, “If Your Presence does not go with us, do not bring us up from here!” What use is a promised land without the presence of the Lord? What use victory without the Victor? Better to die in the wilderness with His presence than to live in palaces void of His presence. Moses didn’t crave gold or glory—only God. “How will they know we have found grace in Your sight unless You are with us? For it is Your Presence that sets us apart from all the peoples of the earth!”
This plea came after the shame of the golden calf. God had said, “I will not go in your midst, lest I consume you on the way, for you are a stiff-necked people.” Judgment hung heavy. But the people responded with brokenness, they stripped themselves of their ornaments, the very gold they once used to craft an idol. What was once an object of rebellion would now be set apart for worship, given for the building of the tabernacle. Out of ashes, something holy would rise.
God, moved by the bold and broken cry of His servant, said to Moses, “I will do this thing that you have spoken, for you have found grace in My sight, and I know you by name.”
Oh, the wonder of being known by God, not just as a face in the crowd, but as a beloved child. Your name, spoken from His lips. The same voice that formed the stars knows your name.
But Moses was not satisfied. He wanted more. “Show me Your glory!” he cried. The cloud wasn’t enough. The fire wasn’t enough. The voice on Sinai wasn’t enough. He longed to see God Himself. Do we? Do you long for His presence with such desperation? Is this one desire the fire that burns in your bones?
David knew that longing. “I have set the Lord always before me; because He is at my right hand, I shall not be moved… for in Your Presence there is fullness of joy.” Not a taste, not a whisper, not a portion-fullness. The very life of the soul. Like a deer pants for the water, so our souls should pant for Him. We cannot go forward unless He goes with us. We need the cloud by day, the fire by night, and the glory that changes everything.
David cried again in Psalm 27, “One thing I have desired of the Lord, that will I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in His temple.” His heart was not set on fame or fortune, but on this one thing—to dwell with God, to see His beauty, to be near Him. In the time of trouble, God would hide him, lift him high upon the Rock.
To Moses, God replied, “I will make all My goodness pass before you… but no one can see My face and live. Still, there is a place by Me. Stand on the rock. I will hide you in the cleft of the rock and cover you with My hand. Then you shall see My back.” What a mercy. What a gift. Moses stood on the Rock, hidden in the cleft, shielded by God’s hand, and he saw the glory of the Lord.
Dear brothers and sisters, do you stand upon the Rock? Are you hidden in the cleft? Has the hand of God covered you, and have you glimpsed His glory? Has it changed you from the inside out? Like Isaiah, who saw the Lord and was undone. Like Jeremiah, who burned with His word. Like Ezekiel, who fell before the wheels of glory. Has His fire touched your lips?
This is no ordinary walk. This is the baptism of fire. For Jesus said, “I have come to cast fire upon the earth, oh, how I wish it were already kindled!” Our God is a consuming fire. He burns away the flesh, the pride, the idols, and reveals His glory in the soul that longs for Him. Let that fire fall.
There is power, brothers and sisters, real power. In Christ. It resides within us and we have been called to exercise it in the name of the Lord Jesus. Just because the Word of Faith movement and the Charismatics have so abused this notion, this should not dissuade us from moving in the power of God,He gives power to the weak, not just comfort, not just words, but power, power from heaven
poured into fragile clay. To those who have no might, He increases strength. This is not human resolve. This is not willpower. This is divine empowerment. Those who wait on the Lord? They don’t just survive, they rise. They mount up with wings like eagles. They run and do not grow weary. They walk, and they do not faint.
Why? Because it is God, yes, God, who commanded light to shine forth from darkness, who said “Let there be!” and there was, who has now shone into our hearts the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. There is power in the light, there is power in the “knowledge of glory.” Not the head knowledge, the mental assent to an abstract truth, but the glory itself and your experience of it and in it.
And this treasure, what a treasure! This power lives in earthen vessels, in us, so that the excellence of the power may be of God and not of us. And Jesus said: “You shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you…” (Acts 1:8). Power to live. Power to stand. Power to speak. Power to shine like lights in a darkened world. Power to be His witnesses in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.
Paul declared, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” He prayed that we would be strengthened with might through His Spirit in the inner man. And Jesus Himself said, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” So Paul says, “Therefore I will boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” Do you believe that today, saints? Do you believe there is a power alive in you? Christ in you, the hope of glory? Is there life in you? Is there light in you? Then let it burn. Let it blaze. Let the world see Jesus alive in you.
Let me give you a small example of Gods glory and power. I sat in the vet’s office many years ago as my beloved dog was old and sick and dying. I asked them how long the injection would take and they said a minute, maybe two. But after five minutes passed—she was still breathing. Confusion crossed their faces. The young women looked a little panicked. Something unspoken hung in the air. My hand was resting on her head. And then, in that moment, the Lord whispered to me: “Take your hand off her head.” I obeyed. As I did, her head slowly lowered and she rested on my foot and passed away.
There is power, my friends. Power in the touch. Power in obedience. Power in surrender. Power in the flow of Christ’s Spirit through yielded vessels. Will you let Him flow through you today? The world is starving, starving for an expression of Christ. Not religion. Not performance. But the raw, radiant reality of Jesus alive in us.
Let Him rise in you. Let Him shine through you. Let the power of Christ rest upon you today. The resurrection power of the Holy Spirit, the same power that caused Christ to rise from the dead, dwells with us earthen vessels.
In Ezekiel chater two, Ezekiel is still reeling from the overwhelming vision in chapter 1. The heavens had opened. The glory of the Lord had appeared. And what does a man do when he beholds the living God? He falls, face down, trembling, undone. Just like Isaiah in chapter 6, who cried, “Woe is me!” when he saw the Lord high and lifted up. And Jeremiah, he too had his moment, his calling, his confrontation with divine fire.
Every time, every single time, when a man comes into the presence of the Most High, he cannot stand. It is the only posture that makes sense before such holiness: to fall flat on your face, emptied of pride, silenced by glory.But then, then! The voice of the Lord cuts through with the weight of glory and says, “Son of man, stand on your feet.” Oh, can you hear it? It’s as though He’s speaking life into dust. It’s the same voice that called to the dry bones in the valley, saying, “Live!” And live they did. Bone to bone, sinew to sinew, flesh upon flesh, but it meant nothing without the breath.
And then—the wind! The Spirit! The breath of life rushed through the valley, and what had been dead stood tall, a vast army, alive by the very breath of God.So it is with us, brothers and sisters. We were dead—dead in our sins, dry and lifeless in a dark valley. But God! He breathed into us His Spirit. He raised us up. He caused us to stand—not by our might, not by our will, but by His power, His Spirit, His holy command.
We move, we speak, we rise, in the name and by the power of the Lord Jesus Christ. But it all begins,with an encounter. An encounter that breaks us down before it builds us up. This is the birth place of true obedience. This encounter, this losing of oneself, is the primary motivation for our mission in life, whatever He calls us to do. Ezekiel chapter 2 is not just the next chapter in a prophet’s story, it’s the holy aftermath of a collision with the Divine. It’s the moment where the fallen man hears the voice of God saying, “Rise.” And by His Spirit—we do.
It is a holy thing to know who you are in the Lord. To search the chambers of your own spirit with trembling , for the flesh is relentless, and is our most cunning foe. It creeps in as a whisper, yet departs in a tempest, tearing as it goes. But the Lord, ah, the Lord He speaks not in thunder, nor in the earthquake, but in that still, small voice. It is not the volume that stirs and shakes mountains, but the weight of the Word itself, Spirit-breathed, eternal.
For passion can rage like a sea in a storm, waves rising like giants, smashing all that dares to stand. But gaze upon the Christ before Pilate, Truth wrapped in silence, power clothed in meekness. Love’s boldness stood face to face with earthly might, yet never raised its voice in pride or vanity, the power of knowing.
If the message be truly of God, then it does not waver,it is unchanging, steadfast as His own Word. But the messenger? Oh, he is tested. Ridiculed. Wounded. Laid bare. He is stripped of self until he walks quietly, humbly, unknown to men, yet known to God. His heart beats not for applause but for obedience, to carry the fire he was given.
It is sweet, yes,so sweet,to hear His voice. But to speak it? That is often bitter. Bittersweet, the flavor of the prophetic path. Yet we must be faithful. Come storm or silence, come crowd or solitude,we must speak what He has spoken.
Let the waves crash, let the world rage. But let us walk on. One step in front of the other. One day at a time. Falling down but getting back up again. We can do all of this in Christ alone. In Him all things are possible and only by the power of the Holy Spirit can the message be delivered.
The great falling away has been an intentional wilful act. Millions of “believers,” all over the world have heaped up teachers to themselves. “For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine………they will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths.” (2 Tim 4:3-4)
They have seized the treasures of this world and their priests have molded them into idols for them. They’ve sought out teachers who preach and justify their ways, teaching them how to thrive and live their best lives now. It’s a pyramid scheme of prosperity with their leaders always show casing their own success as proof. The blind lead the blind, and no one wants it any other way. Think of how the children of Israel did the same in their wilderness days, when leadership (Moses) was absent……….
They handed over the treasures of Egypt—the very spoils of their deliverance—not in thanksgiving to God, but to the priest who forged the idol of their rebellion. The same image of bondage they had just escaped, they now bowed to in ecstasy. And then—they rose up and played, casting off restraint like it was a thing to be mocked.
Eli and his sons? They stole from the brazen altar with grasping hands. They gorged themselves on what was sacred, their bellies fattened by what was never theirs to take. They took the choicest cuts, dripping with the blood of irreverence, showing no fear, no care for the holy things they defiled.
Here’s the truth, plain and terrifying: the people have clamored for exactly this. They didn’t stumble into corruption—they desired it. They built it, fed it, and now lie with it. This is no accidental fall—it’s a deliberate unholy alliance, a willful union where guilt is not only shared, it’s celebrated. The writing is on the wall.
Moses gave the people an ultimatum “whoever is on the Lord’s side come to me.” Three thousand were killed that day. Elijah says “How long will you waver between two opinions? If the Lord is God, follow Him, but if Baal is God, follow Him. But the people said nothing” Four hundred and fifty teachers of Baal were killed after fire fell from heaven. Joshua says “But if serving the Lord seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the Gods your ancestors served beyond the Euphrates or the Gods of the Amorites, in whose land you are living. But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.”
In every generation the people have to decide who they will serve, who they will follow. The few will follow the Lord and the majority will follow the gods of their own “ancestors,” (dead religion) or the gods of the land in which they dwell. This generation has decided, the great falling away is complete, and now only a remnant, a few, will come out from among them. They and their household will serve the Lord.
There remains a remnant—a people set apart, standing in the wilderness to proclaim God’s truth. They are anchored in His Word, separate from the systems of religion, for they understand that Christ did not come to establish another religion but to restore relationship.
To be outside the camp carries risk. When Israel fell into idolatry with the golden calf, a separation was established between the people and God. The Tent of Meeting, set outside the camp, became a place where Moses, Joshua, and the priests entered into His presence, while the people could only watch from their tents. This same idolatry persists today, creating a divide between God and those entangled in religious systems.
The camp represents the churches and religious institutions of our time, while the priests—God’s remnant—have left the camp in pursuit of the true dwelling place of His presence. To enter the Tent of Meeting, one must first “come out from among her.” When Israel entered the Promised Land, the Tent was replaced by the temple, but in time, the temple itself became a stronghold of religion, ultimately torn down stone by stone. And yet, the Tent returns, a place of worship in the wilderness—a place called Spirit and Truth.
As Jesus told the Samaritan woman at the well:
“Our fathers worshiped on this mountain, and you Jews say that in Jerusalem is the place where one ought to worship.”
Jesus said to her, “Woman, believe Me, the hour is coming when you will neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem worship the Father. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is of the Jews. But the hour is coming, and now is, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father is seeking such to worship Him. God is Spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth.“(John 4:20-24)
True worship is not bound to temples built by human hands but is found where God dwells—outside the camp, beyond the gate. The Lord, who was crucified at Calvary, stands in contrast to the Holy of Holies within the temple. While religious men seek their refuge in structures and traditions, the Lord calls His people to meet Him in Spirit and truth.
The call goes forth: Come out of the camp. Come to the Tent of Meeting. Come and tabernacle with the Lord.
The opposition to President Trump from professing Christians is somewhat perplexing. Those who resist him often claim to be apolitical, yet their stance betrays a clear ideological bias. If they were honest, they might acknowledge long-standing left-leaning tendencies. Instead, they engage in virtue signaling, attempting to spiritualize a flawed position and frame it as a moral dichotomy. Strikingly, these same individuals never voiced criticism when professing Christians supported Biden or similar leaders. This inconsistency exposes motive and the political nature of their stand while all the time claiming not to be political.
Paul makes it clear that secular authorities exist to restrain evil, wielding the sword not in vain but as a necessary force against wrongdoing. When rulers abandon this responsibility, they forfeit their legitimacy. The enemy seeks to dismantle rightful secular authority, for he thrives on lawlessness, celebrating evil rather than restraining it. We have always lived in a secular world—this is our reality.
Undoubtedly, President Trump is a secular leader. He is not a born-again Christian, nor does he claim to truly know Jesus. But being a Christian is not a prerequisite for the presidency. In fact, history shows that most presidents have only paid lip service to faith, while others ignored it entirely. Yet, given the choice, I would far prefer a leader who upholds moral order rather than the godlessness seen in much of Europe, Britain, and its Commonwealth. The fundamental duty of a secular government is to establish law and order. This is why Rome was allowed to rise—Pax Romana brought a measure of stability to a chaotic world, creating conditions that enabled the spread of the Gospel. True believers recognize this: we are in the world but not of it.
If a secular leader takes a stand against abortion, protects children from harmful ideologies, defends parental rights, restores law and order, and seeks to prevent unnecessary wars, then we as followers of Christ should be thankful. I certainly am. The end times continue to draw near, and Christ’s return remains imminent. This world is still lost. The current president will be gone in four years, and we should reflect on the consequences of his last departure and the leader who replaced him. Be prepared, saints, there is great darkness ahead and we must be found to be walking in the light.
The Scots despised Margaret Thatcher—truly despised her—but even that pales in comparison to the sheer intensity of Trump Derangement Syndrome. It operates at the opposite end of the spectrum from adulation.
I once heard an interview with a German woman in the 1960s who had attended Hitler’s rallies. When asked why she idolized him, her response was profoundly chilling: “There was something in the atmosphere, and we all breathed it in.” That statement has stayed with me for years. I believe her completely. And that “something,” to me, was entirely demonic.
History shows us that at certain times and in certain places, a collective madness overtakes people—a force beyond reason, beyond individual thought. It is the satanic inversion of corporate worship. It is zeitgeist on steroids.
Zeitgeist, a German word meaning “spirit of the age,” describes the prevailing cultural, intellectual, ethical, and political climate of a particular era. It defines the essence of a time. And to either wholly idolize or utterly despise a person is to be swept up in this very spirit. To partake in such extreme emotional reactions is to breathe in this atmosphere, consciously. I say consciously because we are accountable for what we allow to enter us. Yet it is a “wilful unwitingness,” if there is such a phrase.
Saints of God must not inhale this poison. To do so is a willful act. We cannot be found on the spectrum of hating or idolizing a man. Instead, we must breathe in the rarified air of the Kingdom of God, standing firm in His presence, enveloped in His atmosphere.
As the world spirals into end-times chaos, it is the saints who must remain the last bastion against total madness. The final storm has already made landfall—what we are experiencing now is merely its outer bands. Let us be found in the eye of this storm, where a supernatural peace reigns, untouched by the howling winds of the age.
The vast majority of professing Christians do not have the ability to digest meat. People eagerly receive words of encouragement and exhortation,as a hungry baby would consume it’s mother’s milk. But when confronted with warnings or rebukes, only the faithful remnant of God truly “hear”—or rather, acknowledge—the truth. It takes wisdom and discernment and the Holy Spirit to assess the times in which we live.
In Ezekiel 9,10 and 11 we see the beginnings of Gods withdrawing His presence. The word Ichabod is effectively pronounced over the doorposts, signaling the absence of His glory. Destruction follows, but not before an angel with an ink-horn marks those who remain faithful—those who grieve over the sins of Jerusalem. These are the ones spared from judgment. As it was in Ezekiel’s day, so it is now. The nature of humanity remains unchanged.
Many choose willful ignorance, preferring to live lawlessly, unconcerned with the truth. Few, indeed, find and remain on the narrow path. In times of crisis, drastic measures are required—this is true in our personal lives, in our families, and in our nations. Yet Christendom, broadly speaking, refuses to acknowledge its condition. If it did, if it truly recognized the spiritual desperation of our times, then urgent action would follow.
We would not laugh and celebrate as though all were well—we would weep before the altar, before the throne of God. We would not focus on outward appearances but would humble ourselves in deep repentance. We would clothe ourselves in sackcloth, throw ashes upon our heads, and tear our garments in grief. And still, the masses would mock and call us mad.
The leaders of the people know that true reformation would begin with them. Yet these hirelings—those who serve only for personal gain—can never truly protect the sheep. They stay as long as the path is easy, as long as their position remains profitable and their place in society secure. But when the wolf comes, they will flee.
True repentance and restoration demand that we forsake the traditions of men and return to the “old paths”—to God’s ways. It would mean restoring a sense of accountability, where if a man does not work, he does not eat. But these are the very truths the blind refuse to see, which is why they continue leading the blind. “Men will only recognize the truth when it doesn’t cost them anything. But when truth demands a price, they reject it.” (Ravenhill)
Scripture is utterly radical. I love reading it aloud (as my brothers and sisters know) The other day, I imagined a family gathered around a table, long before phones and computers existed. In their hands is a letter from a beloved family member. One person begins to read, and the whole family leans in, hanging on every word. If the reader pauses, some eager soul bursts out, “What does he say next?
I’ve never understood why some read Scripture as if delivering a sorrowful obituary. There is life in the Word! And there is even greater life in reading it aloud. It moves something in the Kingdom of God. It stirs the unseen realm, sending ripples of concentric circles through the world in ways we cannot perceive. It shakes, it draws, it calls forth something of heaven’s atmosphere into the here and now.
The spirit within us—once dead but now raised to life by the power of the Holy Spirit—begins to rise, like flames leaping up when the breath of life blows upon hot coals. It ignites. It burns. It puts fire in our bones. Our God is a consuming fire and His Word kindles the fire that is within us.
If I had a dollar for every time someone said “God told me,” I’d be a wealthy man. Yet, in the spirit of generosity and assuming the best of my brothers and sisters, I recognize that much of what has been spoken to me—often with sincere intentions—has been filtered through the prism of their soul and flesh. I’m primarily talking about Pentecostals as opposed to Charismatics of whom I have limited experience. Don’t get me wrong, I believe with all of my heart God speaks to His people and they know His voice.
However, it must also be acknowledged that we tend to “hear” what we want to hear. The flesh is cunning, and it has a voice—a persuasive, insistent voice that will use any means necessary to get its way. I hear it most clearly when I’ve been wronged, when the inner narrative in my mind begins constructing its defense, justifying responses that are anything but godly.
Yet that same loud voice can also be very subtle, whispering in ways that seem harmless, even reasonable. Ways that are always self-serving.This is precisely why Scripture calls us to “mortify” the deeds of the flesh. It is why we are commanded to take up our crosses daily. The more we die to our flesh, the clearer our spiritual hearing becomes—allowing us to discern the Lord’s voice. And His voice will never contradict His Word.
Discernment begins with ourselves (our self) Learn to identify the “voice,” of your flesh and begin to oppose it. Give it no quarter, for the flesh will not give your spirit any. It is it’s mortal enemy. Mortal being the operative word, for its time is short and it knows it. That’s why it wants to “eat, drink and be merry.” Crucify the voice of the flesh, take every thought captive and you will hear the voice of the Lord, speaking through your spirit all the more clearly.
The proof of our life in Christ , our resurrection from the dead, our authentic faith, is not found in a large house, a $2000 suit or a prosperous life in this world. These things prove nothing in the spiritual. The proof of our faith is how we react to carrying our cross. In the midst of death to ourselves, does the love of Jesus pour forth? Do we minister to others when we ourselves are in the midst of trial and testings? When you are crushed, does oil flow from your brokenness?
The cross does not lie. It exposes the true nature of our inner man. There is no room for hypocrisy on the cross, what the actor hides, the cross reveals. The men and women of the cross are self evident. They are sacrificial. The men and women of the cross are unmistakable, no matter what their church or denominational background is. They are the called-out ones, ever seeking to go deeper in the Lord. They do not chase after the latest trends in the church, nor do they crave ear tickling words from polished religious salesmen.
Let me encourage you saint. I know the narrow path from Calvary to the throne is often lonely. But take heart- every true saint who came before you has walked the same road. If you are blessed, you will find a few kindred souls along the way and you will strengthen one another. Religion indulges the flesh, but relationship with Christ calls us to die-to self, to pride, to the world. And in that dying, Christ rises. His light breaks forth from within us, shining like a mighty beacon into a world that is lost in darkness.Hold fast, for the cross is our testimony, and the resurrection is our hope.
A Call To The Remnant 