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.
Our small house church, though modest in number, stands as a precious testimony to a deeper reality, a reality that transcends the glittering edifices and booming stages of modern Christendom.
Over a decade ago I made the conscious, Spirit-led shift, joining countless others across the globe who have heard the still small voice calling them out of spiritual Babylon. For in every generation, God reserves for Himself a remnant, a people who will not bow the knee to Baal, no matter how cunningly he reinvents himself through culture, compromise, or counterfeit religion.
Before our very eyes unfolds the tragic convergence of the harlot church, a synthesis of worldliness and religion, dressed in finery but inwardly defiled. Its heartbeat is not the cross, but the stage; not the Spirit, but spectacle. As it was in Rome, so it is today. The Coliseum, once the epicenter of Roman life, rose from the gold and silver plundered by Titus during the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. One temple fell, another was built. Worship of the Holy was replaced by worship of self, veiled in the opiate of entertainment. Bread and circuses—tools of distraction, tools of dominion.
Yet the martyr Stephen, in his final breath, echoed the words of our Lord: “The Most High does not dwell in temples made by human hands.” Jesus, speaking to the Samaritan woman, dismantled the geography of worship and pointed to its essence—Spirit and truth. When asked, “Where should we worship?” Christ responded not with a location, but with a mandate: how we are to worship.
It is vital—indeed, imperative—that the true saints gather not around programs, performances, or personalities, but around the presence of God. In Spirit. In truth. And as the great Day of the Lord draws ever nearer, this calling becomes all the more urgent. For history has shown: men gather to entertain themselves. But few gather to worship God as He has ordained.
Let us, then, be counted among the few—those walking the narrow path that leads to life. Let us not be swept away by the many, whose feet tread the broad road of destruction. Let our assemblies be small, but pure; hidden, but radiant. May our worship rise not from stages, but from sanctified hearts. For the time is short, and the Bride must make herself ready.
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.
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.
The great spiritual decline we are experiencing has many roots.Both leadership and the people share responsibility for spiritual decline. While leaders bear the weight of accountability, the congregation is not without blame. What we witness today, particularly in the rise of large churches and the decline of true faith, mirrors the law of diminishing returns.
To clarify, the law of diminishing returns states that as you increase one factor of production—such as labor or capital—while keeping other inputs constant, the additional benefit from each added unit will eventually decrease. In the context of faith, simply increasing the number of people in a church does not equate to spiritual growth. In fact, it can have the opposite effect.
Consider a family barely surviving on limited resources. If several more families move in without an increase in provisions, everyone suffers. The same principle applies to the church: if discipleship and spiritual nourishment are neglected in favor of entertainment and distraction, then increasing attendance only amplifies the problem. Rather than strengthening the body of Christ, it weakens it.
Jesus transformed the world with just twelve disciples. It was not their numbers but the presence of the Lord in their midst that made the difference. Where two or three gather in His name, His presence is enough to accomplish immeasurable things. A few loaves and fish can feed thousands when blessed by Him. Yet today, multitudes gather, feeding on the abundance of their own works, and still, they starve spiritually.
True power lies not in the size of the gathering but in the reality of His presence, His purpose, and His work in the midst of His people.
The great falling away isn’t about people no longer “going to church,” since the concept of attending “church” is foreign to the Scriptures. Genuine believers are the Church. The true falling away is a departure from truth itself. A building may be packed with people, but who are they spiritually? Are they radical followers of Jesus with deep relationships with Him, or compromisers who embrace Christ but reject the cross?
Those of us who have left religious traditions—I myself am a former Catholic—are well-acquainted with the Sunday-only Christian who checks a box by attending a service, perhaps even midweek gatherings, men’s BBQ nights, or women’s retreats. I call this the processed church. Just as processed food is altered from its original state for convenience—loaded with sugars, unhealthy fats, preservatives, and lacking nutrients—the spiritually processed church has also been altered for convenience.
What are the spiritual effects of this processed church? Consider the “added sugar”: elaborate stages, entertainment-driven worship bands, and smoke machines designed to hype people up, compensating for the absence of God’s genuine presence. Many nominal believers have never truly encountered God’s authentic presence and therefore cannot discern the difference.
Think of “unhealthy fats and low nutrients”: the Word of God diluted, compromised, and stripped of its true nutritional value. These “fats” are sermons focused solely on worldly success, prosperity teachings, and self-enrichment schemes, creating spiritually unhealthy Christians who must continually rely on shallow injections of emotional hype to stay spiritually “alive.” The church system has taught its followers dependency on itself rather than complete reliance on Jesus.
What’s the solution? Revolution—a total abandonment of this processed religious system in favor of something pure, raw, organic, and unaltered by worldly additives. Without such radical change, the current system will collapse under the weight of worldliness and self-centered doctrines disguised as salvation.
There is a growing hunger, especially among younger generations raised within spiritually unhealthy environments, for authenticity, radical commitment, and an uncompromising devotion to Christ Himself. They desire a church wholly devoted to Jesus, characterized by quiet reverence and genuine holiness. A community where believers edify one another according to Scripture, where prophecy, exhortation, wisdom, tongues, and interpretations are practiced. A fellowship without hierarchical leadership, led instead by humble elders and deacons who serve selflessly, desiring no recognition or financial reward. A place that equips believers to live radically, to embrace suffering for Christ, proudly bearing the cross and the scars upon their backs as marks of their love, devotion and authenticity.
This is the organic Church—unprocessed by the world, radically committed to Jesus Christ and His Kingdom.
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)
As a young Christian, I found myself standing in a church one day, worshiping. In that moment, I had a vision. I saw a vase being violently thrown to the ground, shattering into countless pieces. Though some larger fragments remained, they too were gathered and thrown down again. This process repeated three times until the vase was utterly destroyed—broken beyond any hope of repair.
Then, I realized—I was the vase.
As I watched, I saw what I knew to be my heavenly Father. With small spectacles resting at the tip of His nose, He carefully picked up each tiny, even microscopic shard. With supernatural love and patience, He began to restore the vase, piece by piece, bringing it back to wholeness. What had seemed irreparably broken was being made new.
That morning, I was able to share this vision with the fellowship, and it has remained deeply significant to me. Perhaps that’s why 2 Corinthians 4 holds such a special place in my heart.
If you find yourself completely shattered today—broken by life and circumstances beyond any hope of repair—know this: there is a God in heaven who can restore you. He can heal, renew, and make you whole, just as He always intended. His Son, Jesus, was broken for us, disfigured beyond recognition, yet through the power of the Holy Spirit, He was raised from the dead. That same Spirit is reaching out to you now, ready to lift you up if you take His hand.
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.
The men that inhabit the pulpits of today refuse to see that the writing is on the wall for our present religious system. They will not listen because their livelihoods depend upon ignoring the truth. I recall Duncan Campbell sharing how he had to step away from the system of men—relinquishing the manse, his career, and the security that came with it. For seventeen years, he remained in a church where he was not called, held there by the comfort of stability.
Paul worked with his own hands and declared that those unwilling to work should not eat. Being a pastor, teacher, evangelist, or prophet is not a profession one assumes; it is an identity bestowed at the new birth and the baptism of the Holy Spirit. Paul declared woe upon himself if he did not preach the gospel—it was a fire consuming his very being.
If money were removed from the American church, only then would we see the true shepherds continuing to do what they do-making disciples. The gifts of God are not mere roles we fulfill but the essence of who we are, compelling us to act according to our divine nature—our supernature. Even as God raises up His remnant, He is dismantling the clergy-laity system. How? By leaving it to its own resources, sustained only by entertainment and human effort rather than the presence of God and the manifestation of His Spirit within His people.
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 