May 26, 2024
God’s Word works and endures to all generations. There may be differences in drive, but not doctrine. There may be contrasts to causes, but not the cross. The commonality of truth is in a relationship with God that transcends time. When you are born again you join Generation Jesus, one that will span eternity and never end. Listen now…
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Everyone wants to fit in. Most are looking for significance in who they are and in what they do. The most important thing is a relationship with God. It doesn’t happen overnight. It won’t be in a microwave moment. You can’t manufacture it with mere religious action. It has to be heartfelt and deeply moving. And that is why there is power in choice. When you choose to live for God with all of your heart it incentivizes integrity, character, and moral strength. Listen now…
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Washed. He cleaned me. The filth you once knew is gone. The dirt of mistakes is gone. The mud of sin and the grime of self-destruction is gone. There is no trace of the terror I used to be, just the truth of what HE has made me. The stains of blame are scrubbed away. The stains of rebellion seemingly irremovable, making me an object that was irredeemable, they are simply gone. Vanished beneath the blood. Disappeared in the deliverance detergent of grace. Erased by the mercies of the Lord that are new every morning. The evidence that was once against me, is now the testimony of a God who is for me. The marks of malice, the stains of stubbornness.
My soul is rinsed from regret. My heart is spotless because the blood of the lamb is the best spot remover. My hands are clean. My vision is clear. My attitude is adjusted from hate to love. My first step is not toward the darkness to do what I want in the world, but toward the light to let the world see what the Lord has done.
Sanctified. He gave a cause.
Justified. He delivered me from condemnation.
Isa 1:18 Come now, and let us reason together, saith the LORD: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. Listen now…
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Peter slept between two soldiers. Chained in the cold. Guarded by evil. A dirty dungeon floor. Dim lit hallways. Lightless souls wandering about. Shadowy figures leaning here and there. Think about it. The church was praying, interceding; Peter was out, sleeping like the dead. While the intercessors were warring, Peter was snoring. Some were restless, but Peter rested. Arrested, then rested…not bad when you have faith in God.
How can he sleep like that in a prison? Cramped quarters. Surroundings are terrible. His body aches. His eyes are heavy. His freedom is gone and he can barely move. Muddy walls. A stench of sweat and urine permeating every inch of the atmosphere. Grouchy guards. Unfavorable future. Uncertain hours ahead. James, his good friend of many years has already been eliminated, martyred for the Kingdom. But Peter is sleeping in the cell. Why? Simple. He was tired. Sometimes you don’t need a reason, just a place to lie down. You ever been so tired you could sleep on concrete in the middle of rush hour? That was Peter.
Now, it mentioned he was given over to a quaternion of soldiers. Four different soldiers watched the prisoner every six hours, making a team of sixteen soldiers over a twenty-four-hour period. Two would be chained to the prisoner. Two would stand outside the prison door. That’s sixteen guards. But One God….
I know some of you are outnumbered by the guards of hell; they want to lock you up in shame, keep you a prisoner of the past, make you live out your last days in the dungeon of depression. But in your case it ain’t how many guards are on location, it’s how many gods…and in your case you only need One!! Listen now…
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Religion is like a reservoir. Often man-made. And man decides what flows, how much flows, when it is shut off and how much volume is determined. But a River is God-made. God decides the flow marks, the banks of possibility, the flow and speed. Don’t settle for mere religion, when God wants you to have deep relationship with Him. Don’t just settle for creeds and human opinions. Let the powers of God move in your life at an unlimited rate. Listen now…
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Weak. Frail. Exhausted. The body is drained of nutrients. Fluids of hope have been spent. His flesh longs for a simple sip of water. Dehydration has made its mark with parched lips and screaming muscles. He is dizzied by desire, for hope is drawn from his core like the blood will soon be drawn from his veins. He is thirsty. But he cannot drink human wells. There are no refreshing streams of relief. He is not near a waterpot of peace. Not here. Not in this moment. He must drink the cup. The lonely, terrible, torturous, sin-tormenting cup. The transgression-filled, dirty, poisonous, blame-embittered, disobedient-laced cup.
And he has never felt so weary. But there is no time for rest.
It is like the virtue of a thousand worlds has drained from him. Sin siphons justice from his broken body. Death stands in the distance wondering how it can touch such a holy body. But destiny must be completed. Promises have to be performed. Love has to finish this course.
He is weakened by love. He doesn’t want man to be lost. He is weakened by the light burning in him. It contrasts with the darkness. It wrestles with evil. It clashes with sin and the Satanic. He is weakened by the sickness of the sinner. He aches for their liberty. He moans for their mercy. He cries loud and strong for their future, one without darkness and death; one without hopelessness and hell; one without threats and demonic thrones. Listen now…
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Psa 103:12 As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us.
As far as the east is from the West is Unreachable. This is not a measurable distance. It is the horizontal revelation of God’s mercy, dealing with us on a plain of sin and hope. Sin is stretched so far away from the sinner, that now the sinner can hear the voice of God without condemning interference.
As far is truly contrasted with east from the west. If I said as far as Denver is from Dallas you would have a measurable. You can’t measure forgiveness with a ruler, or a mileage track, or traced steps of grounds discovered and surveyed. You couldn’t even say as far as Pluto from Mercury. Or our galaxy from the most distant galaxy from us. And then think of he directional revelation. East from West. It keeps moving. It is an infinite gap that keeps growing. Forgiveness from condemnation incrementally grows more distant with each service, with each perfecting season of prayer; with each fiery trial successfully endured and testimony gained. The power of forgiveness increases and guilt of the past decreases as you walk with God. That should inspire you to keep on the move. Keep going forward in faith and faithfulness. Listen now…
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When Elijah first looked at it, the broken altar, it lay in a heap of scraps. Disjointed wood. Scattered rocks. Blood-soaked splinters. Sweat washed remains. It was chaos and madness, where the hyped-up heathen failed in desperation to get Baal’s visible answer. They were left with blank stares, empty enchantments, and a noisy human display with nothing divine in it. It had been a concert of futility. Some of them were so weary they looked like statues poured into a mold of shock. Faces gaunt. Sleepy eyes. Lifeless expressions. Their show was over. The clouds drew a momentary curtain over the sun. The stage was now empty, and one contestant of truth remained. The eclipse of Baal was removed, and true light was ready to shine, ready to burn.
Sometimes God lets the noisy deceivers have their say and stand on their stage. He lets them wiggle and waste away in their showmanship and powerless prayers. He lets the fake fall. He lets the imaginary play out. When all the tricks and treachery are done, then truth steps forward; there are some Elijah’s that are going to step forward in this hour.
He fit the pieces of the altar together, like a puzzle of prophecy, fitly formed, tightly mounded; order restored. Destiny reshaped. Revival ready. Prayer empowered. He rolled this stone that way and pulled the wood this way; he wiped away the futile blood of heathens that cut themselves. He blew away the dust of their frenzied dance. After he rolled in and accurately placed the last stone, Elijah stabbed the air with a prophetic finger and counted the twelve stones, Israel’s God-given number. He smiled in satisfaction. He glimpsed toward a heaven that would soon descend. He narrowed his gaze upon the surroundings and commanded barrels of water be poured. He wanted the altar to be soaked, baptized in water. The promise of fire seems to be connected to a baptism of water…there would be no sensual manufacturing, no magic trick or sleight of hand; he didn’t need illusion, he had Divine inspiration. Listen now…
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The blood is dripping. Redemptive raindrops. A crimson storm. Dusty soils splotchy and darker, patches of grace here and there. Ribbons of flesh hang. Wheezing moans resound on bitter winds. Those who hear will be haunted on a thousand nights by the ghastly figure of this beaten man. It is ugly. Who can bear it? It is nauseating. Who can leave the scene and have an appetite? Yet, in contrast, it is morbidly beautiful, contradictorily amazing. For in the shredded muscle and flesh one finds a miracle; in the torn and ripped, gashed and gaping, one finds something greater than medicine; a Divine prescription for the diseased and gruesomely sick. “By his stripes ye were healed.” I Peter 2:24
Slap. The scourge has found its aim. Slap. Guttural moans escape the Healer’s lips. Slap. Gasps and sickened oohs and aahs fill the air. Slap. The ragged cords like razor sharp teeth of leviathan dig in, catch and tear. Slap. Blood spatters the ground, the guards, and the splintery column to which he is bound. Slap. And the flesh tearing bite takes another hunk of his mortal body, while something otherworldly is being sewn into the fabric of eternity. If this man had been a criminal even then it might seem too gratuitous, this macabre form of punishment, torturous and borderline sadistic. Maybe a mass murderer deserved this, but not a Messiah. Maybe a pirate captured from high seas of plundering and thievery might deserve this, but not a Giver of love. But he wasn’t going through this because he deserved it; he was going through this because he desired it. Listen now…
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The room was small. The huddled group was desperate. The blinding sun invaded the windows. Hungry feet paced. Desiring souls hummed. Stored prayers broke forth. Geysers of intercession. Explosions of determination. Burning embers of volcanic indignation. They would not remain silent in the storm. They refused to acquiesce to threats and human thrones.
Somebody burst forth in tongues. Another bowed and rocked back and forth. Others leaned against the earthen wall. No matter the position they all prayed. No matter the posture they all prayed. No matter the problems they all prayed.
Passivity dissolved. Faint heartedness vanished. Boldness blazed. Fear took a back seat to the driving travail. It got louder. The intensity flamed. The words echoed down the street. Sinners nearby heard it. Sanhedrin members would eventually get the report. The Jesus name bunch is back at it. Praying again. Preaching that name again. Their red faces of anger couldn’t stop it. Their verbal threats and physical harm couldn’t silence it. Their political motives and society concerns didn’t compromise them. They loudly proclaimed it. They amplified their souls from the hot furnaces of prayer and when their mouths opened, hot coals of truth lit the world on fire. Pray On…Listen now.
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