#discipleship — Public Fediverse posts

The Maranatha Empire

There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.

Maranatha.

Come, Lord.

It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.

But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.

They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”

They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”

They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.

This is the Maranatha Empire.

It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.

It begins quietly.

It begins with concern.

The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.

Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.

So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.

A throne.

A sword.

A spectacle.

A scapegoat.

A strongman.

A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.

A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.

A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.

This is how the prayer becomes an empire.

The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.

The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.

The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.

The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.

The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.

And there is the blasphemy.

Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.

It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.

It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.

It displays the cross while despising weakness.

It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.

The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.

For the way of Jesus is slow.

It is seed, yeast, salt, light.

It is foot-washing.

It is forgiveness seventy times seven.

It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.

It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.

It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.

The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.

It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.

It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.

It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.

It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.

So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.

There is no time to love.

No time to listen.

No time to discern.

No time for reconciliation.

No time for peacemaking.

No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.

The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.

And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:

They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.

Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.

So they build him an empire to inherit.

But Christ does not inherit empires.

He judges them.

He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.

The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.

Outside the camp.

Outside respectability.

Outside the approved narrative.

Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.

The empire expected him in the capital.

But he is with the refugees.

The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.

But he is with the mother of the disappeared.

The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.

But he is washing feet in the basement.

The empire expected him to bless the troops.

But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.

This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.

It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.

Come, Lord, and judge our churches.

Come, Lord, and judge our flags.

Come, Lord, and judge our markets.

Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.

Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.

Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.

Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.

This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.

Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.

It may be our idols.

The algorithm.

The nation.

The party.

The brand.

The gun.

The strongman.

The myth of innocence.

The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.

The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.

Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.

The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”

Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”

And perhaps this is the word for us now:

The church does not need to become more powerful.

The church needs to become more faithful.

Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.

That is the hard part.

Empire is attractive because it promises control.

Jesus offers communion.

Empire promises security.

Jesus offers peace.

Empire promises victory over enemies.

Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.

Empire promises to make us great.

Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.

So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.

Let it fall first in us.

Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.

And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.

A table.

A basin.

A towel.

A loaf.

A cup.

A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:

Maranatha.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.

Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.

Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.

And until you come, make us faithful.

Not imperial.

Not triumphant.

Not afraid.

Faithful.

The Maranatha Empire

There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.

Maranatha.

Come, Lord.

It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.

But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.

They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”

They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”

They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.

This is the Maranatha Empire.

It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.

It begins quietly.

It begins with concern.

The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.

Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.

So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.

A throne.

A sword.

A spectacle.

A scapegoat.

A strongman.

A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.

A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.

A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.

This is how the prayer becomes an empire.

The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.

The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.

The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.

The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.

The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.

And there is the blasphemy.

Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.

It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.

It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.

It displays the cross while despising weakness.

It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.

The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.

For the way of Jesus is slow.

It is seed, yeast, salt, light.

It is foot-washing.

It is forgiveness seventy times seven.

It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.

It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.

It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.

The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.

It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.

It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.

It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.

It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.

So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.

There is no time to love.

No time to listen.

No time to discern.

No time for reconciliation.

No time for peacemaking.

No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.

The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.

And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:

They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.

Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.

So they build him an empire to inherit.

But Christ does not inherit empires.

He judges them.

He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.

The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.

Outside the camp.

Outside respectability.

Outside the approved narrative.

Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.

The empire expected him in the capital.

But he is with the refugees.

The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.

But he is with the mother of the disappeared.

The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.

But he is washing feet in the basement.

The empire expected him to bless the troops.

But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.

This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.

It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.

Come, Lord, and judge our churches.

Come, Lord, and judge our flags.

Come, Lord, and judge our markets.

Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.

Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.

Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.

Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.

This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.

Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.

It may be our idols.

The algorithm.

The nation.

The party.

The brand.

The gun.

The strongman.

The myth of innocence.

The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.

The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.

Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.

The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”

Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”

And perhaps this is the word for us now:

The church does not need to become more powerful.

The church needs to become more faithful.

Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.

That is the hard part.

Empire is attractive because it promises control.

Jesus offers communion.

Empire promises security.

Jesus offers peace.

Empire promises victory over enemies.

Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.

Empire promises to make us great.

Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.

So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.

Let it fall first in us.

Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.

And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.

A table.

A basin.

A towel.

A loaf.

A cup.

A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:

Maranatha.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.

Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.

Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.

And until you come, make us faithful.

Not imperial.

Not triumphant.

Not afraid.

Faithful.

The Maranatha Empire

There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.

Maranatha.

Come, Lord.

It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.

But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.

They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”

They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”

They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.

This is the Maranatha Empire.

It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.

It begins quietly.

It begins with concern.

The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.

Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.

So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.

A throne.

A sword.

A spectacle.

A scapegoat.

A strongman.

A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.

A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.

A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.

This is how the prayer becomes an empire.

The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.

The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.

The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.

The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.

The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.

And there is the blasphemy.

Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.

It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.

It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.

It displays the cross while despising weakness.

It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.

The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.

For the way of Jesus is slow.

It is seed, yeast, salt, light.

It is foot-washing.

It is forgiveness seventy times seven.

It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.

It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.

It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.

The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.

It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.

It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.

It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.

It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.

So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.

There is no time to love.

No time to listen.

No time to discern.

No time for reconciliation.

No time for peacemaking.

No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.

The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.

And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:

They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.

Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.

So they build him an empire to inherit.

But Christ does not inherit empires.

He judges them.

He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.

The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.

Outside the camp.

Outside respectability.

Outside the approved narrative.

Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.

The empire expected him in the capital.

But he is with the refugees.

The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.

But he is with the mother of the disappeared.

The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.

But he is washing feet in the basement.

The empire expected him to bless the troops.

But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.

This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.

It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.

Come, Lord, and judge our churches.

Come, Lord, and judge our flags.

Come, Lord, and judge our markets.

Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.

Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.

Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.

Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.

This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.

Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.

It may be our idols.

The algorithm.

The nation.

The party.

The brand.

The gun.

The strongman.

The myth of innocence.

The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.

The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.

Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.

The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”

Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”

And perhaps this is the word for us now:

The church does not need to become more powerful.

The church needs to become more faithful.

Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.

That is the hard part.

Empire is attractive because it promises control.

Jesus offers communion.

Empire promises security.

Jesus offers peace.

Empire promises victory over enemies.

Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.

Empire promises to make us great.

Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.

So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.

Let it fall first in us.

Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.

And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.

A table.

A basin.

A towel.

A loaf.

A cup.

A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:

Maranatha.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.

Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.

Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.

And until you come, make us faithful.

Not imperial.

Not triumphant.

Not afraid.

Faithful.

The Maranatha Empire

There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.

Maranatha.

Come, Lord.

It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.

But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.

They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”

They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”

They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.

This is the Maranatha Empire.

It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.

It begins quietly.

It begins with concern.

The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.

Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.

So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.

A throne.

A sword.

A spectacle.

A scapegoat.

A strongman.

A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.

A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.

A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.

This is how the prayer becomes an empire.

The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.

The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.

The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.

The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.

The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.

And there is the blasphemy.

Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.

It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.

It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.

It displays the cross while despising weakness.

It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.

The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.

For the way of Jesus is slow.

It is seed, yeast, salt, light.

It is foot-washing.

It is forgiveness seventy times seven.

It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.

It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.

It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.

The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.

It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.

It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.

It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.

It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.

So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.

There is no time to love.

No time to listen.

No time to discern.

No time for reconciliation.

No time for peacemaking.

No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.

The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.

And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:

They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.

Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.

So they build him an empire to inherit.

But Christ does not inherit empires.

He judges them.

He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.

The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.

Outside the camp.

Outside respectability.

Outside the approved narrative.

Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.

The empire expected him in the capital.

But he is with the refugees.

The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.

But he is with the mother of the disappeared.

The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.

But he is washing feet in the basement.

The empire expected him to bless the troops.

But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.

This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.

It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.

Come, Lord, and judge our churches.

Come, Lord, and judge our flags.

Come, Lord, and judge our markets.

Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.

Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.

Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.

Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.

This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.

Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.

It may be our idols.

The algorithm.

The nation.

The party.

The brand.

The gun.

The strongman.

The myth of innocence.

The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.

The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.

Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.

The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”

Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”

And perhaps this is the word for us now:

The church does not need to become more powerful.

The church needs to become more faithful.

Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.

That is the hard part.

Empire is attractive because it promises control.

Jesus offers communion.

Empire promises security.

Jesus offers peace.

Empire promises victory over enemies.

Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.

Empire promises to make us great.

Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.

So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.

Let it fall first in us.

Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.

And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.

A table.

A basin.

A towel.

A loaf.

A cup.

A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:

Maranatha.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.

Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.

Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.

And until you come, make us faithful.

Not imperial.

Not triumphant.

Not afraid.

Faithful.

The Maranatha Empire

There is a prayer so holy that it should burn the tongue of every empire that tries to speak it.

Maranatha.

Come, Lord.

It is the cry of the small church under pressure. The cry of the persecuted and the patient. The cry of those who have no armies to summon, no throne to defend, no voting bloc sufficient to save them, no market share large enough to secure their future. It is the cry of those who wait because they know they are not God.

But in every age, there are those who take this prayer of waiting and turn it into a banner of possession.

They say, “Come, Lord,” but what they mean is, “Give us control.”

They say, “Thy kingdom come,” but what they mean is, “Let our faction rule.”

They say, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” but what they build are prisons, borders, propaganda machines, religious celebrity platforms, and monuments to their own fear.

This is the Maranatha Empire.

It is not one nation only, though nations may become its servants. It is not one denomination only, though denominations may become its chapels. It is not merely Rome, nor Geneva, nor Washington, nor Moscow, nor any other city that has mistaken power for providence. The Maranatha Empire is the recurring temptation of the religious heart: to stop waiting for Christ and begin replacing him.

It begins quietly.

It begins with concern.

The world is dangerous. The children are vulnerable. The church is shrinking. The enemies are multiplying. The culture is changing. The old certainties are crumbling. The people are afraid.

Fear, when baptized, often calls itself faithfulness.

So the frightened church begins to reach for tools Jesus refused.

A throne.

A sword.

A spectacle.

A scapegoat.

A strongman.

A law that can accomplish what love has not yet persuaded.

A state that can enforce what the Spirit has not yet formed.

A leader who promises to defend Christ, as though Christ ever asked Peter to keep swinging after Gethsemane.

This is how the prayer becomes an empire.

The early church cried, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it knew that Caesar was not Lord. The Maranatha Empire cries, “Come, Lord Jesus,” because it wants Caesar to become useful.

The early church broke bread in homes. The Maranatha Empire builds platforms and calls them altars.

The early church welcomed the stranger. The Maranatha Empire sees the stranger as a threat.

The early church died rather than kill. The Maranatha Empire kills and calls the dead collateral damage in the defense of righteousness.

The early church believed the Lamb had conquered. The Maranatha Empire keeps looking for a beast strong enough to protect the Lamb.

And there is the blasphemy.

Not that empire rejects Christ outright. That would be too honest. The Maranatha Empire does something more dangerous. It uses Christ as decoration for a power that is fundamentally afraid of the cross.

It sings of the Lamb while trusting the dragon.

It preaches resurrection while organizing itself around survival.

It displays the cross while despising weakness.

It quotes Jesus while ignoring the people Jesus told us to notice: the poor, the imprisoned, the hungry, the foreigner, the enemy, the child, the wounded man beside the road.

The Maranatha Empire is not built by atheists. It is built by believers who have lost patience with the way of Jesus.

For the way of Jesus is slow.

It is seed, yeast, salt, light.

It is foot-washing.

It is forgiveness seventy times seven.

It is refusing the shortcut of domination even when domination appears efficient.

It is telling Peter to put away the sword when everything in Peter’s body screams that this is the moment for holy violence.

It is standing before Pilate and saying, “My kingdom is not from this world,” not because the kingdom has nothing to do with the world, but because it does not come by the world’s methods.

The Maranatha Empire cannot tolerate this.

It cannot tolerate a Messiah who will not seize power.

It cannot tolerate a church that would rather be faithful than influential.

It cannot tolerate a people whose politics begin at the basin and towel.

It cannot tolerate enemy-love, because enemy-love ruins the machinery. Empire requires enemies. It needs them. It feeds on them. Without enemies, the crowd might look too closely at the throne.

So, the Maranatha Empire manufactures urgency.

There is no time to love.

No time to listen.

No time to discern.

No time for reconciliation.

No time for peacemaking.

No time to ask whether the means resemble the Christ we claim to serve.

The hour is late, they say. The danger is great. The stakes are too high. We must act now. We must take control now. We must win now.

And somewhere beneath all that urgency is a terrible confession:

They do not actually believe the Lord is coming.

Or, if he is coming, they do not trust him to arrive in the right way.

So they build him an empire to inherit.

But Christ does not inherit empires.

He judges them.

He walks in alleyways, not palaces. He asks whether the churches have kept their first love. He warns those who are rich and comfortable and self-satisfied that they may be poor, blind, and naked. He stands at the door and knocks, not because he has been defeated by secularism, but because religious people have locked him outside while holding meetings in his name.

The Maranatha Empire is always shocked when Jesus is found outside the gate.

Outside the camp.

Outside respectability.

Outside the approved narrative.

Outside the walls with the crucified, the excluded, the unclean, the inconvenient, and the condemned.

The empire expected him in the capital.

But he is with the refugees.

The empire expected him in the cathedral of victory.

But he is with the mother of the disappeared.

The empire expected him on the reviewing stand.

But he is washing feet in the basement.

The empire expected him to bless the troops.

But he is asking why his followers are still carrying swords.

This is why Maranatha must remain a dangerous prayer.

It must never be allowed to become a slogan for conquest. It must never be printed on the banners of those who are unwilling to be converted by the One they summon. To pray “Come, Lord” is not to invite divine endorsement of our projects. It is to invite judgment upon them.

Come, Lord, and judge our churches.

Come, Lord, and judge our flags.

Come, Lord, and judge our markets.

Come, Lord, and judge our weapons.

Come, Lord, and judge our sermons.

Come, Lord, and judge our secret hatreds.

Come, Lord, and judge the ways we have used your name to avoid your way.

This is the prayer empire cannot honestly pray.

Because if the Lord comes, the first thing to fall may not be our enemies.

It may be our idols.

The algorithm.

The nation.

The party.

The brand.

The gun.

The strongman.

The myth of innocence.

The lie that we can harm others for a righteous cause and remain untouched by the harm.

The Maranatha Empire teaches us to fear the collapse of Christian influence.

Jesus teaches us to fear gaining the world and losing our soul.

The Maranatha Empire asks, “How do we take back the culture?”

Jesus asks, “Can you drink the cup that I drink?”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the winners.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the meek.”

The Maranatha Empire says, “Blessed are the forceful, for they shall secure the future.”

Jesus says, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”

And perhaps this is the word for us now:

The church does not need to become more powerful.

The church needs to become more faithful.

Not passive. Not silent. Not withdrawn into pious irrelevance. But faithful in the particular, cruciform, stubborn way of Jesus. Faithful enough to resist evil without becoming its mirror. Faithful enough to tell the truth without hatred. Faithful enough to protect the vulnerable without worshiping violence. Faithful enough to build communities of economic sharing, hospitality, forgiveness, courage, and joy. Faithful enough to be a people who can live without controlling the outcome.

That is the hard part.

Empire is attractive because it promises control.

Jesus offers communion.

Empire promises security.

Jesus offers peace.

Empire promises victory over enemies.

Jesus offers reconciliation that may begin with our repentance.

Empire promises to make us great.

Jesus invites us to become small enough to enter the kingdom.

So, let the Maranatha Empire fall.

Let it fall first in us.

Let it fall in every place where we have confused anxiety with zeal. Let it fall where we have preferred dominance to witness. Let it fall where we have wanted laws to do what discipleship would not. Let it fall where we have used the suffering of others as fuel for our own righteousness. Let it fall where we have asked Jesus to come only after we have arranged the throne to our liking.

And when it falls, may something older and more beautiful remain.

A table.

A basin.

A towel.

A loaf.

A cup.

A people gathered without illusion, without empire, without the need to be impressive, whispering the ancient prayer not as conquerors but as witnesses:

Maranatha.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Come not to crown our domination, but to free us from it.

Come not to baptize our fear, but to cast it out.

Come not to make our empire holy, but to teach us again that your kingdom comes like a seed, like yeast, like mercy, like a Lamb who was slain and yet lives.

And until you come, make us faithful.

Not imperial.

Not triumphant.

Not afraid.

Faithful.

Light for My Path (Christian Music) = Share in the joy ❤️ of this new worship song! - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #Faith #Hope #Trust #Light #Path #Guidance #Strength #Journey #Purpose #Truth #Love #Devotion #Praise #Worship #Discipleship #InnerPeace #SpiritualGrowth #Community #Unity #Belonging #Transformation #Uplift #Grace #Mercy #Salvation - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0WI3kWyEhp8

Wet Feet

There is something almost comical about it at first. I took the dog to the park because I knew I would be away for pastors’ Bible study. The grass was wet. My sneakers got soaked. I went home, changed my socks, and thought I had solved the problem. Then on the hour drive I realized my feet were getting wet again, because of course the shoes themselves were still wet. So now, during Bible study, my feet have been wet. Damp. Cool. Probably getting more shriveled by the hour.

Yet somehow it feels fitting.

Not dramatic. Not grand. Just fitting.

I think of the phrase “getting my feet wet,” as though ministry, faith, and discipleship are things I ease into gradually, carefully, at a manageable depth. But some days it doesn’t feel like that. Some days it feels more like simply having wet feet and carrying on. Not preparation for service, not a metaphor about a faithful beginning, but the thing itself. Wet feet. A small discomfort that stays with me. A quiet bodily reminder that I am not moving through the day untouched.

And sitting here, I cannot help but think of Jesus washing feet.

Not the polished image of it. Not the sentimental church painting version. But the actual strangeness of it. Wet feet. Dirty feet. Vulnerable feet. Tired feet. The feet that carried dust, ache, story, and status. The Lord kneeling with basin and towel. The Most High God attending to what is lowest. Not avoiding the human mess, but stooping into it.

Maybe there is something right about reflecting on servant life while sitting in damp shoes.

Because service is rarely abstract. It is seldom dry and comfortable. It does not usually happen in pristine conditions, after everything has been neatly changed and arranged. Often it is inconvenient. Often it lingers. Often I think I have addressed the problem, only to discover the wetness has seeped through again. I change the socks, but the shoes are still soaked. I try to reset myself, but the deeper discomfort remains.

That, too, may be part of ministry.

I carry wetness with me. The sorrows of others. The unfinished conversations. The burdens that seep through. The humble tasks nobody notices. The little irritations that become, strangely, occasions of grace. And maybe part of following Jesus is not always finding a way to stay dry, but learning how to keep loving with wet feet.

Jesus washed feet not because feet are noble, but because they are ordinary. Necessary. Exposed. Human. He met his friends there, at ground level. And then he told them to do likewise.

So perhaps wet feet are not the worst thing.

Perhaps they are a reminder.

A reminder that I am not above the ground.
A reminder that discipleship is tactile.
A reminder that love kneels.
A reminder that service is not clean.
A reminder that holiness may sometimes smell like damp shoes and feel like wrinkled skin.

In some ways, it seems fitting to go through this day with wet feet.
Maybe, in some ways, it seems right to go through life that way too.

Not just getting my feet wet,
but having them wet—
as one who follows the Christ
who washed feet,
and who still seems to meet me there,
down low,
with basin,
with towel,
with love.

The transition from conceptual belief to active discipleship is a significant milestone in any spiritual journey. 🏛️📜

I’m sharing an insightful resource by Mary Venable Vaughn: "Stepping Into Discipleship." A valuable resource for those interested in theology and personal development.

Full details here:
🔗 https://www.maryvv.com/product/stepping-into-discipleship-paperback/

#Theology #PersonalDevelopment #MaryVenableVaughn #Discipleship #FaithAndAction #Literature

Unshakeable Foundations in a Turbulent World

706 words, 4 minutes read time.

Psalm 119:116 – Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path.

Introduction

In a world filled with uncertainty, it’s easy to feel like our foundations are shifting beneath us. But what if we told you that despite the chaos around us, your foundation can remain unshakeable? In this devotional, we’ll explore how Psalm 119 can be the anchor of hope in turbulent times.

The Power of Scripture

Psalm 119 is a powerful reminder of the impact of scripture on our lives. As we read through these verses, we’re struck by the depth and richness of God’s Word. It’s not just a book of rules or regulations; it’s a living, breathing source of life that can guide us through even the darkest of times.

David writes, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path” (Psalm 119:105 NIV). This verse speaks to the transformative power of scripture in our lives. When we immerse ourselves in God’s Word, it becomes a source of guidance, comfort, and strength.

Building Unshakeable Foundations

To build unshakeable foundations, we need to focus on what truly matters. We can’t control the external circumstances that surround us, but we can control how we respond to them. As believers, our foundation is built on the rock of Christ, and His Word is the anchor that holds us fast.

But it’s not just about knowing scripture; it’s about living it out in our daily lives. When we make God’s Word a priority, we begin to see the world through His eyes. We start to understand that everything we face can be transformed by His power and wisdom.

The Importance of Community

As believers, we’re not meant to go it alone. We need community – people who will encourage us, support us, and challenge us to grow in our faith. When we surround ourselves with like-minded individuals, we become a source of strength for one another.

The early church was built on the foundation of discipleship, where believers were committed to one another and to spreading the Gospel (Acts 2:42-47). As we seek to build unshakeable foundations in our own lives, let’s not forget the importance of community. Let’s reach out to those around us and support them in their walk with God.

Prayer for Unshakeable Foundations

Lord, help us to build unshakeable foundations on Your rock. Give us a deepening love for Your Word and a desire to live it out in our daily lives. Surround us with people who will encourage and support us on our journey. And as we face the challenges of this world, may You be our anchor of hope, holding fast to our hearts and guiding us through the turbulent times.

Reflection / Challenge

• What are some areas in your life where you feel like your foundation is shifting? How can you apply Psalm 119 to those situations?
• In what ways do you currently prioritize scripture in your daily life? Are there any changes you could make to deepen your relationship with God’s Word?
• Who are some people in your life who can help you build unshakeable foundations? How can you reach out to them and support one another on your journey?

Prayer / Closing

May the anchor of hope hold fast to our hearts, guiding us through the turbulent times. Amen.

Call to Action

If this devotional encouraged you, don’t just scroll on. Subscribe for more devotionals, share a comment about what God is teaching you, or reach out and tell me what you’re reflecting on today. Let’s grow in faith together.

D. Bryan King

Sources

• Unshakeable Foundations – Bible Gateway
• Unshakeable Foundations in a Turbulent World | Desiring God
• The Unshakeable Foundation of the Gospel – Christianity Today
• Unshakeable Foundations in a Turbulent World | The Gospel Coalition
• The Unshakeable Foundation of the Gospel – Desiring God
• Unshakeable Foundations in a Turbulent World | Barna Group
• The Unshakeable Foundation of the Gospel, According to Biblical Scholar – RBC News

Disclaimer:

The views and opinions expressed in this post are solely those of the author. The information provided is based on personal research, experience, and understanding of the subject matter at the time of writing. Readers should consult relevant experts or authorities for specific guidance related to their unique situations.

Related Posts

Rate this:

#anchorOfHope #anxietyRelief #BibleStudy #biblicalPrinciples #Christ #ChristianLiving #community #dailyDevotionals #Devotional #discipleship #encouragement #Faith #GodSPower #godSWord #gospel #guidance #innerPeace #livingOutFaith #mentalHealth #overcomingChallenges #perseverance #psalm119 #scripture #SpiritualGrowth #spiritualStrength #stressManagement #supportNetwork #Transformation #turbulentWorld #unshakeableFoundations #Wisdom

Awake in His Light (Christian Music) = Share in this new celebration 🙌 of faith! - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #YoungFaith #ChristianCommunity #BibleStudy #ChurchWorship #SpiritualGrowth #TrustInGod #FaithJourney #GodsLove #HolySpirit #JesusChrist #Discipleship #SpiritualAwakening #PrayerTime #PraiseAndWorship #SundayService #ChristianFamily #GodsGrace #SpiritualReflection #PeaceAndHope - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4dUUzWQ14Yw

Awake in His Light (Christian Music) = Share in this new celebration 🙌 of faith! - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #YoungFaith #ChristianCommunity #BibleStudy #ChurchWorship #SpiritualGrowth #TrustInGod #FaithJourney #GodsLove #HolySpirit #JesusChrist #Discipleship #SpiritualAwakening #PrayerTime #PraiseAndWorship #SundayService #ChristianFamily #GodsGrace #SpiritualReflection #PeaceAndHope - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4dUUzWQ14Yw

Awake in His Light (Christian Music) = Share in this new celebration 🙌 of faith! - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #YoungFaith #ChristianCommunity #BibleStudy #ChurchWorship #SpiritualGrowth #TrustInGod #FaithJourney #GodsLove #HolySpirit #JesusChrist #Discipleship #SpiritualAwakening #PrayerTime #PraiseAndWorship #SundayService #ChristianFamily #GodsGrace #SpiritualReflection #PeaceAndHope - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4dUUzWQ14Yw

Awake in His Light (Christian Music) = Share in this new celebration 🙌 of faith! - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #YoungFaith #ChristianCommunity #BibleStudy #ChurchWorship #SpiritualGrowth #TrustInGod #FaithJourney #GodsLove #HolySpirit #JesusChrist #Discipleship #SpiritualAwakening #PrayerTime #PraiseAndWorship #SundayService #ChristianFamily #GodsGrace #SpiritualReflection #PeaceAndHope - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4dUUzWQ14Yw

Awake in His Light (Christian Music) = Share in this new celebration 🙌 of faith! - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #YoungFaith #ChristianCommunity #BibleStudy #ChurchWorship #SpiritualGrowth #TrustInGod #FaithJourney #GodsLove #HolySpirit #JesusChrist #Discipleship #SpiritualAwakening #PrayerTime #PraiseAndWorship #SundayService #ChristianFamily #GodsGrace #SpiritualReflection #PeaceAndHope - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4dUUzWQ14Yw

Explore the dangers of testing God, as Jesus warns against it! Witness religious leaders resisting Jesus, clinging to their own ways. Discover the disciples' journey to understanding and the impact of time on belief. #FaithJourney #ReligiousResistance #TestingGod #FaithJourney #ReligiousResistance #TestingGod #Discipleship #BiblicalTeachings #ChristianLiving #SpiritualGrowth #JesusChrist #Theology #FaithOverFear

“Therefore, #confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.” (James 5:16; ESV)

It seems that in spite of our high view of #scripture many #protestants simply ignore this verse. “I can just go to Jesus and be forgiven” is the common retort. And yet Scripture tells us to confess to one another and pray for the other’s healing from sin.

The #Anglican, #Catholic, and #Orthodox traditions are being more wholly faithful to Scripture when they encourage the faithful to go to #confession .

#theology #bible #discipleship

Comrade Jason​ and I mused on #Christmas, #TaylorSwift​, #CardinalsBaseball and more on our 3rd "Christmas Spectacular" episode of #ZippyTheWonderSnail. Didn’t catch us live? Here’s the podcast! 🏁🐌🏁 #redemption #teaching #discipleship https://podcast.ofb.biz/sa1167