This was the prayer that came to my spirit as I walked and prayed this morning.
If a celestial staircase opened before me Lord, I would climb it, step by step, all the way to heaven. If I could lay my burdens down, I would lay them all down now, at Your feet oh Lord.
If the noise of this world could be silenced forever, O what a glorious moment that would be. For nothing surpasses the peace of Your presence, The stillness, the holy rest of our God.
There is no clamoring when we draw near to You, Lord, Only rest, and peace, and stillness. You make me lie down in pastures green, You lead me beside the still waters of life.
Amid the tumult and noise of this age, Fix my mind on the eternal, unseen kingdom. Open my eyes to behold Your way, The kingdom that cannot be shaken.
Open the staircase of heaven before me, Lord, That I might climb into Your presence, Leaving the clamor and the noise behind, And dwelling forever in Your light.
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 Call To The Remnant 