A few years ago, my wife and I visited Bar Harbor, Maine, a picturesque town along the rugged coast of northern Maine. On the surface it was charming, but beneath that charm I sensed something deeply troubling. There were pride flags in abundance, drag performers openly parading down the street, but it was not the mere presence of these things — it was the spiritual atmosphere. It was oppressive, heavy, dark. A spirit hovered there that grieved my soul, and I knew it. The Spirit of God within me bore witness, and I felt led to walk through that town early one morning, praying in the Spirit.
With each step I called on the name of the Lord, walking the streets as one who carries the presence of God. Eventually, I came to the Village Green, and felt impressed to sit and worship. I reached for my earphones, but realized I had left them in the hotel. Yet the call to worship remained. So I turned up the volume on my phone and let the songs of praise rise into the morning air. I sat there quietly at first, hoping not to disturb, but then the Holy Spirit spoke gently to my heart.
He said, “There are pride signs everywhere. These people are proud of who they are. Are you proud of who you are?” It was not harsh, not condemning, but firm and loving. The answer welled up in me, not just as a thought, but as a fire—yes Lord, I am not ashamed of You. I am not ashamed of the Lord Jesus Christ. And then the Spirit said, “Raise your hands here, in the middle of this park, and worship Me.”
I hesitated for a moment. The flesh wrestled with the spirit. What will people think? What will they say? But the Spirit whispered, Who cares what they think? Galatians 1:10 says, “For do I now persuade men, or God? Or do I seek to please men? For if I still pleased men, I would not be a bondservant of Christ.” So I surrendered, I raised my hands, and worshiped. In the open. In the daylight. Among strangers.
And when I did, something broke. The chains of fear and intimidation snapped. Freedom swept over me like a wave. For ten, maybe fifteen minutes, I sat there, hands lifted to heaven, praising the King of glory. People walked by, some stared, but I no longer cared. I had entered the sanctuary of His presence in the open square. And when it was done, the oppression that had pressed upon me was gone. Lifted. Dispersed like a mist under the rising sun.
You see, brothers and sisters, there is power in being unashamed. There is liberty in declaring with your whole life that Jesus is Lord. As it is written in Romans 1:16, “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God to salvation for everyone who believes.” There is a direct connection between boldness and power, between confession and anointing.
Jesus said in Luke 9:26, “For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words, of him the Son of Man will be ashamed when He comes in His own glory, and in His Father’s, and of the holy angels.” Let it not be so with us. Let us be those who glorify our God not just with words, but with surrendered lives, with uplifted hands, with fearless obedience.
The world is growing darker, more hostile to Christ and His people. But the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.
Stand firm. Be unashamed. And in doing so, walk in the power of His gospel — the only power that saves, the only power that delivers. His way, His truth, His life.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Who, I ask you, who can separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trial? Shall agony? Shall persecution or hunger or nakedness or danger or the edge of the sword? It is written—For Your sake we are killed all the day long. We are accounted as sheep for the slaughter.
And yet—yet! In all these things, not outside of them, not after them, but in the very midst of them, we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.
I am fully persuaded—utterly convinced—anchored with a faith that will not be shaken, That neither death, nor life, Nor angels nor demons, Nor rulers nor tyrants, Nor the present agony nor the looming shadow of the future, Nor the height of ecstasy nor the depths of despair, Nor anything that has ever been created in heaven or on earth or beneath the earth —none of it, nothing— shall be able to sever us, to tear us, to pry us loose from the love of God which is ours in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Oh, do you see it, saints? We are more than conquerors—not just survivors, not merely enduring, but victorious with eternal weight—in every circumstance.
Whether clothed in splendor or stripped bare in affliction, Whether seated in honor or cast into the pit of shame, Whether celebrated or scorned, Whether fed at a banquet or starved in a wasteland, Whether on the mountaintop or in the furnace—we overcome.
And we do not boast in our own strength. No! We walk humbly before men when they praise us. And we fall humbly before God when they revile us. For in the kingdom of God, victory and defeat are not what the world claims they are.
The cross proves this.
For at the hour when Jesus hung stripped, beaten, nailed to a tree—when the world saw only ruin, He was in fact winning the greatest victory ever known in heaven or on earth. He triumphed over sin. He broke the power of death. He shamed the powers of darkness and bore the full weight of the wrath of God. And He did it not by avoiding the humiliation—but by embracing it, enduring it for the joy set before Him.
And now, because He conquered, we too conquer.
Because He stood, we stand.
Because He rose, we rise.
So let the sword come. Let famine rage. Let persecution howl. Let all hell be loosed against us. We will not be moved. For we are more than conquerors—not in ourselves, but in Christ Jesus, by the power of the Holy Spirit.
And nothing—nothing—shall separate us from His love.
Life is relentless in its demands. Day after day, it pulls at us, tugs at our attention, and weighs heavy on our souls. So much of it, if not most, is rooted in the thorns of this world, the very snares Jesus warned us about.
“And these are they which are sown among thorns; such as hear the word, and the cares of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches, and the lusts of other things entering in, choke the word, and it becometh unfruitful.” (Mark 4:18–19)
These thorns are real. They pierce deep. They don’t just graze us, they tear at us. They draw blood. They leave scars. And Jesus doesn’t stop at the thorns. He adds the deceitfulness of riches. He adds the lust for other things, that raging hunger, that craving, that aching desire to have, to possess, to control. Be it money, pleasure, status, power, it all wars against the soul.Put it all together, and spiritually, this world isn’t just hard, it’s a minefield. Every step we take can feel like it might explode with grief or temptation. And that’s before we even mention the griefs common to every life, death, loss, disease, betrayal, heartbreak, pain.
How then can we possibly walk as saints in such a broken world? Only by being rooted, anchored, in something not of this world. Something eternal. Glorious. Transcendent. We must be tethered to the realm of heaven, locked into the very presence of God.To keep our hearts pure, to keep them from choking, we must keep our eyes, our spirits, locked on Jesus. What does that really mean? It means setting our gaze upon His glory. Not the fleeting glory of man, but the eternal glory Jesus spoke of in John 17.
This glory speaks of intimacy, of nearness. To be one with Him, we must enter in. Into the secret place. Into the fire. Into the awe and wonder of His presence. We must be aware,truly aware, of who He is. Not in our intellect, not in our theology alone, but in the depths of our heart.”Did not our heart burn within us?” One heart. Undivided. United with Christ. United with the Father. Brought together in power by the Holy Spirit.
And when HE becomes our distraction, when His beauty is all we see, then our hearts become good soil. Then they burn, they shine, they glow with the radiance of His glory.So seek Him, brothers and sisters! Seek Him daily. Hunger after His righteousness with holy desperation. Know that the King of glory has made His home in you. And there is nothing,nothing, more urgent, more essential, more glorious, than allowing that glory to manifest in you… and shine through you to this desperate world.
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.
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.
The beginning of the vision was a loud booming voice calling all Christians to awake , “Awake you sleepy Christians.” “Who will ascend Gods Holy Hill? Those with a pure heart and clean hands.”Then I saw thousands of baby turtles heading from the dunes towards the sea. Darkness was falling and there was a full moon that illuminated the broad beach. Before most of the turtles could cross the beach and reach the safety of the water, they were attacked by screaming seagulls. The power of the air had come to attack them, seagulls by the hundreds making a horrendous shrieking noise as they feasted on their helpless prey.Then from the dunes came raccoons and critters of every kind to join in the frenzy and drag these hapless baby turtles away. Just when I thought the slaughter could not get worse, out from under the sand came ghost crabs which tore into the turtles and dragged them down into their holes in the sand to be devoured. As all of this was going on, I could see Scripture framing this whole scene. “Many are called but few are chosen,” “Broad is the road that leads to destruction, narrow is the path that leads to life.” A handful of the turtles made it to the water.
Then suddenly I am looking at a stadium. On its platform was a sword embedded in a rock. In the stadium were thousands and thousands of young people. Teenagers, young people in their 20s and 30s. Jesus walks onto the stage and goes to the rock and pulls out the sword and turns to address the crowd of young people. Below the stage was a line of older men and women, mature saints, standing and silently praying. Behind them, between them and the stage, were thousands of flags fluttering in the wind. Jesus addresses the crowd and challenges them to come down and take up their crosses and join the fight against the great tide of evil that has deluged the land. First they must come and be prayed for and then come towards Him to join Him. In order to do that they would have to pass through the sea of flags. Then I saw that there were words written upon upon every flag. I looked closer.
On hundred of them was the word lust. On hundreds more was hate. And then there was ambition, suicide, bitterness, un-forgiveness, rebellion, greed, materialism and on it went. The call is made to the crowd by Jesus. “Will you come forward and die to these things this day?” They respond to the call to arms and begin to move forward in obedience to the call with great trembling and weeping. They kneel and pray with the men of God and then get up and move past them and with pure hearts and clean hands. They make their way towards the flags that represents what they have just laid down, they pull up the flag and they break it over their knees and throw it to the ground. Freedom rings out into the night sky, the rejoicing rises up into heaven itself. The gates of hell begin to shake as Jesus receives the reward of His suffering and the young people rise up with one voice in adoration of their King.
In every great move there is a tearing down. Gideon, long before he does mighty exploits, is called to tear down the altars of his father and in its place build an altar to Lord His God so that it becomes a sanctuary, a meeting place. “His father’s altar to Baal stood as a symbol of dead religion, an affront to the living God. Despitie Gideon’s initial apprehension, he obeyed and his actions signaled a shift towards a new spiritual stirring.” (J.D.King)
The reformation is probably the largest example of a tearing down yet there are many more. In the 19th century in Scotland there was “the great disruption,” where almost 500 ministers abandoned the Church of Scotland and their Anglican roots to form the free church, gave us some great preachers like Bonar and his brothers.
Of course you had the confessing church with Bonhoeffer, rejecting the corruptions of the Lutheran church. The Jesus movement of the late 60s and 70s was led by anti- establishment “Jesus freaks.” I long to see this generation, the ones that are younger than me have their own Gideon moment/movement. A new wine skin for new wine.
Of course, the old guard will be, for the most part, against it, because second and third generations almost always morph into religion and establishment. Every field that seeks to continue to produce, must go through crop rotation. It’s time, I believe, for the present “church,” to be rotated. We’ve sucked all the nutrients out of the ground and our crops have suffered greatly for it, smaller, less fruitful and the yield almost down to nothing. Time for a new crop, new wine, therefore, time for a new wine skin.
There is a remnant people who have/will tear down the idols of their fathers, dead religion. It may have had life at one point( it may not have) but certainly God is calling this generation back to their first love. Yet just as when the Israelites were released from Babylon to go back to their beginnings, only about a third did, two thirds staying behind in the comforts and ease of Babylon.
The modern established church is a very comfortable place to be. It has a program for everything. It has a “senior pastor,” who will do all your thinking for you. Coming out of that is a horrifying thought for those who have worshiped there for generations. Yet, in the end, who will search for “the old paths?” Who will desire to return to their first love? The remnant.
have their own Gideon moment/movement. A new wine skin for new wine.
A Call To The Remnant 