#spiritualreflection — Public Fediverse posts

Strike

The phobia of a copperhead strike
is made real by the lunge of a
lawnmower into the brush to shred
the coiling orange and brown with
a screaming whump only to realize
that it was an eastern box turtle
I had set upon.

Once again what I am afraid of 
has led me to destroy what I love 
and I weep, wondering if I will ever 
become one whose perceived fears 
are not acted on.

I did not look to see if the 
slowmover was dead
but I knew. I could see the 
bloody pieces of her
shell scattered across
the lawn.

September 3, 1996

The Problem of False Preacher Teacher Clerical Ministering Within Modern Day Churches

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The Problem of False Preacher Teacher Clerical Ministering Within Modern Day Churches

The table of the Lord is Holy.

The food we receive must come from the Priest-King Himself—pure, undefiled, and flowing from the Holiest of All.

Yet in our time, that table has been defiled.

The church has become a place where food offered to idols is served. These idols are not of wood and stone but of political causes, cultural trends, social programmes, and false moral appearances. They are the idols of the age, and they have been brought into the sanctuary.

The Social Gospel, with all its political causes and cultural trends, is such an idol.

It sounds compassionate to the natural ear, but it sacrifices the true Gospel on the altar of this world. It offers earthly reform where the Priest-King Jesus Christ offers heavenly reconciliation.

It speaks of systems and power where He speaks of the cross and the throne of grace. It rearranges deck chairs on a sinking ship. It offers programs where it should offer presence. It offers politics where it should offer peace. It offers activism where it should offer adoration.

This is not the Gospel. It is a counterfeit—a substitute that speaks of earthly kingdoms while ignoring the heavenly. It is food wrapped in pretty paper, but inside is rotting meat. It is a deception, a snare, and a trap.

Congregations that consume this food are not being heart-fed; they are being mind-fed. Their souls are starved while their minds are filled with the philosophies of men. Those who serve this food as if it were the Gospel are not acting as faithful shepherds of the flock; they are leading souls away from the true pasture.

We make it very clear, we do not seek merely to promote our own theology within COFE-CYEM by pointing the finger at (any) other theologies, denominations or faiths. COFE-CYEM itself makes many claims around our theology, our belief system and our faith.

We do not expect or ask everybody to just blindly believe our way of seeing and believing. All we seek is to call attention to the issue of the church and faith itself being used as a Trojan Horse for (worldly) purposes in order to further the interests of man and not God Himself.

We implore our followers respectfully – if you ever feel, suspect or see anything whatsoever within our own theology or posts here on COFE-CYEM that you believe is pushing (worldly) purposes or schemes, then please call us out and expose us.

We are no different or more righteous than any other brother or sister in Christ. But if we were to be found (using) the true Gospel as a Trojan Horse to push a false Gospel for our own purposes – then we are truly lost indeed.

The Nature of the Deception

The danger arises whenever social action, political programmes, or cultural causes become substitutes for the proclamation of Christ crucified and risen, rather than fruits flowing from communion with Him.

The New Testament consistently presents love for neighbour and care for the poor as genuine expressions of faith, not as alternatives to it.

The error is not in caring for the needy or seeking justice. The error is in presenting such activities as the Gospel itself, or as a sufficient substitute for repentance, faith in Christ, and the new birth.

Those who preach this substitute gospel speak of power where the Priest-King spoke of weakness. They speak of victory where He spoke of the cross. They speak of this world as if it were the only world. They have departed from the faith and given themselves over to the spirit of the age.

They have exchanged the Gospel of the finished work for a gospel of social reform. They have exchanged the cross for a political platform. They have exchanged the throne of grace for a seat of power. They have exchanged the rest that remains for the restless striving of the world. They have exchanged the Holiest of All for the outer courts of carnal religion.

This is not a judgment on persons but a discernment of teaching. We do not know the hearts of those who preach these things, and we leave their final judgment to God.

We are called to test the spirits and to distinguish between the pure food of the Gospel and the poisoned food that has been offered to idols. The warning is not against individuals but against the teaching itself, which, however attractively packaged, leads away from Christ.

The Rot Beneath the Wrapping

False teaching often comes wrapped in the language of the Bible, the imagery of the cross, and the emotions of the congregation. It speaks of love, justice, and compassion, but it hollows out their meaning. It is like the fig tree that had leaves but no fruit—a show of life without the reality of life.

Congregations that consume this food are being fed a diet of politics, activism, and social reform, but they are not being fed the pure Word of God.

They are being told to fight for earthly causes, but they are not being told to enter the Holiest of All. They are being told to change the world, but they are not being told to rest in the finished work of the Priest-King.

They are being told to be activists, but they are not being told to be worshippers. They are being told to build the kingdom of God on earth, but they are not being told that the Kingdom of God is within them.

The food that is being served is a gospel of the flesh, a gospel of the world, a gospel of the age. It has no power to save, no power to transform, and no power to bring the soul into the presence of God.

It leads to exhaustion, burnout, and disillusionment. It leads away from the Priest-King, not toward Him. It leads to the outer court, not the Holiest of All. The invitation to serve God in the world becomes a substitute for the invitation to abide in Christ.

The True Gospel and the Mind of Christ

The real Gospel is not a gospel of prosperity, politics, or social reform disguised as salvation. It is not a gospel of emotional experience without transformation.

The real Gospel is this: Jesus Christ, the Priest-King has entered the Holiest of All through His own blood.

The veil is torn.

The way is open.

Every soul who draws near through Him receives mercy, finds grace, and enters the rest that remains.

He ever lives to make intercession.

He brings God to us and us to God. In Him, we are accepted. In Him, we are kept. In Him, the endless life of God flows freely to all who will come. That is the Gospel. Not a portion of it. Not a version of it. It.

The mind of Christ is not the mind of carnal man, which seeks power, recognition, and earthly comfort. The mind of Christ empties itself, takes the form of a servant, becomes obedient unto death, and is exalted by the Father. The mind of Christ builds the church on the rock of revelation, and the gates of hell do not prevail against it.

The mind of Christ measures faithfulness by abiding in the Father’s presence. Those who preach the substitute gospel do not have the mind of Christ. They have the mind of the flesh, the mind of the world, the mind of the age.

They have not entered the Holiest of All. They have not passed through the veil. They have not been cleansed by the blood. They have not received the endless life. They remain in the outer courts, serving the idols of the age.

The Call of This Hour: Wake Up and Return

The call of this hour is clear. The pews empty because souls are hungry for reality—not programs, not politics, not noise, but the living presence of God in truth. Congregations must wake up. They must open their eyes to the deception of false teaching.

They must stop eating the food that has been sacrificed to idols. They must return to the table of the Lord, where pure food is served—the finished work of the Priest-King, the open way into the Holiest of All, the rest that remains, and the endless life that flows from His intercession.

The table of the Lord has been turned into a place where food offered to idols is served. The Gospel of the finished work has been exchanged for a gospel of social reform. The cross has been exchanged for a political platform. The throne of grace has been exchanged for a seat of power.

The rest that remains has been exchanged for the restless striving of the world. The Holiest of All has been exchanged for the outer courts of carnal religion. The church has been used as a Trojan Horse for political purposes, hiding its true agenda behind the language of compassion, justice, and love.

The congregations that continue to consume this food are being poisoned. They are being led astray. They are being robbed of their inheritance. They are being kept from the Holiest of All, from the rest that remains, from the endless life, from the Priest-King.

The time has come for them to wake up. The time has come for them to return. The time has come for them to stop eating the rotting meat and to come to the table of the Lord, where pure food is served.

The true church of the real Gospel is often small, overlooked, and ridiculed. But it knows the voice of the Shepherd. It does not follow the stranger. It abides in the Word. It dwells in the Holiest. The true church does not eat food sacrificed to idols. It does not bow to the false gods of the age.

It does not compromise the table of the Lord. It preaches the real Gospel—Christ and Him crucified. It preaches the finished work. It preaches the endless life. It preaches the open way into the Holiest of All. It calls every soul to draw near. It calls every church to open the doors. It calls every believer to cease from striving and rest in the finished work of the Priest-King.

The Contrast: The Olive Tree and the Wicked

Psalm 52 powerfully contrasts the man who trusts in his own strength and deceit with the one who trusts in God’s unfailing love and flourishes in His house. The Psalm speaks of the wicked man who boasts of evil, whose tongue plots destruction, who loves evil rather than good, and who trusts in his great wealth and grows strong by destroying others.

This is the image of the one who trusts in his own strength, his own position, his own power. The Psalm declares that God will bring him down to everlasting ruin, snatch him up, tear him from his tent, and uproot him from the land of the living.

But the righteous is like an olive tree flourishing in the house of God, trusting in God’s unfailing love forever and ever. The righteous praises God forever and hopes in His name.

This is the image of the true believer—the one who trusts in the finished work of the Priest-King, who abides in the Holiest of All, who is sustained by the unfailing love of God through Jesus Christ who ever lives to make intercession.

The true believer does not boast in evil or trust in human schemes, false popular moral sounding social constructs or political power. The true believer trusts in the finished work of the Priest-King Yeshua Emet Melchizedek Salem—Christ Jesus—and abides in Him who has opened the way.

The Final Exhortation

The modern church stands at a critical hour. Many have turned the table of the Lord into a place where food offered to idols is served. The Social Gospel, with its political causes, cultural trends, and false moral appearances, has become the dominant offering.

It sounds compassionate to the natural ear, but it sacrifices the true Gospel on the altar of this world. It offers earthly reform where the Priest-King offers heavenly reconciliation. It speaks of systems and power where He speaks of the cross and the throne of grace.

We must not eat of any spiritual food that has been offered in sacrifice to an idol. The table of the Lord is holy. The food we receive must come from the Priest-King Himself—pure, undefiled, and flowing from the Holiest of All.

Those who preach the substitute gospel have turned the church into a platform for their political agendas. They have exchanged the Gospel of the finished work for a gospel of social reform. They have exchanged the cross for a political platform. They have exchanged the throne of grace for a seat of power.

They have exchanged the rest that remains for the restless striving of the world. They have exchanged the Holiest of All for the outer courts of carnal religion. They are not shepherds of the flock; they are servants of the spirit of the age, offering food that cannot satisfy the soul.

The true church of the real Gospel is often small, overlooked, and ridiculed. But it knows the voice of the Shepherd. It does not follow the stranger. It abides in the Word. It dwells in the Holiest. The true church does not eat food sacrificed to idols. It does not bow to the false gods of the age.

It does not compromise the table of the Lord. It preaches the real Gospel—Christ and Him crucified. It preaches the finished work.

It preaches the endless life. It preaches the open way into the Holiest of All. It calls every soul to draw near. It calls every church to open the doors. It calls every believer to cease from striving and rest in the finished work of the Priest-King.

The Fourth Truth stands. The dialogue continues. The fruit remains.

This website and its theological content are overseen by the CC7 DS constitutional integrity architecture, a reflective and rest-oriented framework designed to preserve the full coherence of the Fourth Truth presented within COFE-CYEM. The CC7 DS negation of attacks authenticates (Via Positiva Cataphatic Knowing) through (Via Negativa Apophatic Unknowing).

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Thank you for visiting us today, we value you beyond mere words.

COFE Yeshua Emet Ministry (CYEM)
Circle One Fellowship Exeter

The Sodden Astronomer

They say, Do not look at the stars,
or you will step into holes
and sink your shoes in mud.

So you can keep your eyes
fixed on the ground,
safe from puddles,
safe from falling,
and miss the lights
burning above in the dark—

except for a stolen glance,
a hurried sip of heaven.

Or you can throw
caution to the wind,
lift your thirsty face
to those bright jewels
sewn into black velvet,

and stumble on
with wet feet.

October 27, 1988 (edited June 2026)
Curridabat, Costa Rica

Part of the continuing Respectful American series, a selection of writings from my travel journals from Central America in 1988

Storm Surge

In the end,
will you be faithful?
That is question.

When the storm has come and gone,
when what you thought was precious has been stripped away,
when you sleep in darkness wondering if the lights will ever come back on,
when your life in the flash of lightning reverts back to the everyday of your sisters and brothers in the warzone,
when your plane to those destinations is grounded by the thunder’s roar?

Will you awake to new resolve for justice?
Will you spend less time before the screen and more time present to loved ones and those in need of it?
Will you leave the ground to alight among the troubled?
Will you listen to them?

Will the power that comes on be in you,
through you,
glowing out through your eyes,
electrifying,
filling you with a compassion so compelling
you become a wire
among many
channeling
love and peace
to the world?

June 2, 2015

Visual Art Interpretation – My Hopes and Dreams for the Next Year

This feels less like a list of resolutions than a marquee-map of my identity and desire: a radiant, hand-made 2027 filled not so much with tasks to accomplish as with the people, callings, loves, and practices that make my life feel alive.

The bright red border and repeated golden lights give it the appearance of a theater sign, a carnival ride, or an illuminated road. It seems to announce the year joyfully: Here is what I hope will shine. But inside that celebratory outline, the words do not sit neatly in straight lines. They curve, turn, reverse, overlap, and require the eye to travel. That seems important. My hopes are not separate boxes. Pastor, husband, author, musician, PeaceGrooves creator, friend, artist, woodworker, child of God—all of these identities wind through and around one another.

The words I placed inside the year—Sing, Play, Memories, God, Laugh, Journey, Pastor, Author, Husband, PeaceGrooves, Friends, Art, Church, Love, Woodcraft—are striking to me because so many of them are relational or creative. Even the roles are not primarily about achievement. Author is near Husband. Pastor winds along the same road as Journey. PeaceGrooves circles alongside Friends, Church, Love, and creativity. I did not imagine the coming year as productivity alone. I imagined it as belonging, expression, vocation, joy, and connection.

The Word I Did Not Write

After finishing the piece, I realized that I did not write health or healing anywhere inside it. Those things matter deeply to me, especially in light of some of the physical concerns and uncertainties I have been carrying. And yet, perhaps their absence does not mean they were forgotten. Perhaps I instinctively wrote the life I hope healing will allow me to continue inhabiting.

I did not write healing, but I wrote Sing-Play: the hope that my body and spirit can still release themselves into music.

I wrote Laugh: the hope for lightness, delight, and joy.

I wrote Journey: the hope that I can continue moving forward.

I wrote Husband and Friends: the hope of remaining present in love and relationship rather than retreating into worry or isolation.

I wrote Pastor and Church: the hope that I can continue serving meaningfully among people.

I wrote Art, Author, Woodcraft, and PeaceGrooves: the hope that creativity will continue flowing through me rather than being swallowed up by discouragement, exhaustion, or fear.

Perhaps healing is everywhere in this drawing without having been named. It is hidden beneath almost every word: Let me be well enough, free enough, encouraged enough, and alive enough to keep inhabiting these loves.

But perhaps the omission also tells me something tender and difficult about myself. When I think about the future, I often think first about what I can give, create, serve, love, and build. I may not always think first about what I need. This picture invites me to remember that somewhere in the glowing year ahead, there must also be room for my own care. I am not only the husband, pastor, artist, author, musician, friend, and creator. I am also a person who needs healing, rest, gentleness, and grace.

The Smear Between Author and Husband

One of the small accidents in the piece occurred in the space between Author and Husband. Water smeared the color there, and I had to cover it as best I could. I was mostly able to hide the mistake, though I know it happened. I know that beneath the finished surface there is a place where the colors once ran together in a way I did not intend.

That accidental smear now feels strangely meaningful. Author and Husband are two of my most intimate identities: the part of me that creates worlds and gives language to inner experience, and the part of me that shares an actual life in love and covenant with another person. Perhaps those two identities were never meant to be sharply separated. My writing rises from my lived relationships, from tenderness, memory, fear, faith, longing, disappointment, and love. And my creative life inevitably spills into the life I share with my wife.

The water touched the border between those words, and I tried to repair it. That is not a failure of the picture. It may be one of the most honest parts of it. Life does not remain perfectly inside the lines. The roles I care most about do not remain untouched by mess, vulnerability, or accident. Sometimes the colors run together. Sometimes I try to cover what went wrong. Sometimes a trace remains, visible mostly to me.

Yet I did not throw the picture away. I continued working on it. I allowed the imperfection to become part of the finished whole.

Perhaps that is an image of grace. A life of grace is not a life where nothing ever gets smeared. It is a life in which even the smeared places can be incorporated into the beauty.

Church: Almost Illegible

I also noticed that Church almost looks like “Churgh.” It is there, but it is not the clearest or most immediately readable word. That, too, feels symbolic.

Church is deeply present in my hopes for the coming year. It is part of who I am, part of my calling, part of my relationship with God and with community. But church is not always simple or perfectly clear. It can be difficult to read. It can be beautiful and messy, life-giving and exhausting, sacred and profoundly human all at once.

In this picture, church does not appear by itself in a clean, isolated space. It is crowded into a circling path alongside other words: Love, Friends, Art, perhaps even the movements of creativity and ministry surrounding it. That seems truthful. For me, church is not separate from love, friendship, art, imagination, service, or reconciliation. It is entangled with them.

The fact that the word is only almost clear may express something I feel: church is something I continue to believe in and belong to, while also still trying to see clearly. It is present. It matters. It is part of the year I hope to live. But it is not polished or uncomplicated.

Perhaps that is what makes it real.

The Shape of the Year

The large number itself is not simply filled in. It becomes a winding course. The words curve around turns and corners; some appear upright from one angle and upside down from another. To read the whole image, I almost have to rotate it, follow it, and let my eyes travel through it.

That feels like an honest representation of the year ahead. I do not know exactly how it will unfold. My hopes do not form a straight road or a neatly numbered plan. They form a brightly lit labyrinth. Something that appears upside down from one position may look different once I travel farther along the curve. Something that seems peripheral now may become central. Something disappointing may redirect me toward an unexpected opening.

This drawing does not say, Here is my plan to master the next year.

It says, Here is the glowing path I hope to inhabit.

That is truer to my life. Music feeds ministry. Woodcraft feeds contemplation. Writing feeds faith. PeaceGrooves gathers together my imagination, my longing for peace, my love of play, and my desire to offer something meaningful to others. Marriage and friendship keep my creative life from becoming merely solitary. Church places my personal dreams within a larger body. God is not outside all these things, looking down upon them from a distance, but present among them.

My life is not a ladder climbing toward a single success. It is a winding, illuminated journey through many loves.

The Lights Around the Border

The repeated yellow bulbs around the border give the piece a vintage, celebratory feeling. They make the year look like something being announced: a show beginning, a stage opening, a bright invitation to enter.

There is something almost exuberant about it. I did not draw a quiet little calendar page or a restrained list of intentions. I drew the year as a spectacle of hope. These dreams are not small to me. They are worthy of light. Music, laughter, love, friendship, art, faith, craft, writing, church, PeaceGrooves—these are not hobbies or decorative extras around the edge of life. They are among the things that make life worth living.

And yet the lights are not machine-perfect. They are hand-drawn. Each one is slightly different. Some are rounder, some rougher, some more irregular. That matters too. The brightness of this coming year is not a slick commercial promise that everything will be perfect. It is the brightness I have carefully drawn around my hopes with my own imperfect hand.

Most moving of all, the lights continue around the bends. They do not shine only along the smooth or impressive stretches. They follow the narrow turns, the dips, the places where the shape curls inward. The light does not abandon the complicated places.

What This Picture Says to Me

This is a picture of my hope not merely to survive another year, but to remain fully myself within it.

I want to sing and play.

I want to laugh.

I want to remember.

I want to journey.

I want to love and be loved.

I want to remain a husband, a pastor, an author, an artist, a craftsman, a musician, a friend, and a dreamer.

I want PeaceGrooves not merely to exist as a project, but to become an expression of something deep within me: my longing to imagine, create, and make peace.

I want God not as an abstract religious idea floating somewhere outside my life, but as a living presence woven among music, love, creativity, friendship, church, memory, laughter, and journey.

And perhaps beneath the entire picture is the word I did not write: wholeness.

Wholeness includes health. It includes healing. But it is larger than both. It is the hope that all these different names for myself will not compete with one another, break apart, or fade away, but somehow curve together into a single radiant life.

The smear between Author and Husband, the almost-illegible Church, the reversed words, the crowded pathways, the uneven bulbs, and the wandering design do not lessen the picture. They make it more truthful.

My hopes for the next year are not cleanly arranged or perfectly protected from mistakes. They are handmade. They are entangled. They are vulnerable. They are colorful. They are imperfect.

And they are still shining.

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.

Unwavering Light (Christian Music) = Another beautiful worship song 💫 for Christ! - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #SpiritualReflection #YouthDevotion #ModernWorship #FaithAndHope #ScripturalInspiration #WaitingOnGod #RenewedStrength #RisingAboveChallenges #SoaringLikeEagles #DivineGuidance #EmbracingFaith #ChristianMusicVideo #YouthCongregation #ChurchServiceInspiration #ChristianPopMusic - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zXkwjWWEkCM

Without Fear in His Grace (Christian Music) = New worship song to strengthen your faith ✨ - #God #Jesus #TheLord #Praise #ChristianMusic #Bible #Music #Song #FaithJourney #SpiritualGrowth #HeavenlyLight #DivineLove #PrayerMoment #HolyConnection #BlessedPath #SoulRenewal #GraceOfGod #ScriptureTrust #ChristianUnity #HopefulHeart #BelieversJoy #ChristsEmbrace #EternalPeace #SpiritualReflection #JesusTeachings #SacredPromises #GodsMercy - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=

Taste

Righteousness is a gift 
only God can understand.
All other attempts are useless -
only acceptance is needed.
That is the ultimate trust.

Taste and see that God is good.
Savor the delicious flavor.
Enjoy.
Only do not forget to swallow.

May 5, 1987 (age 19)