𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗔𝗥 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗜𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗬𝗘

The ruin of a soul does not begin with the outward act but with the inward consent. The mind—created to behold the beauty of God—becomes darkened when it willingly entertains what it knows to be unclean. When a person nourishes sexual fantasies, lingers over corrupt desires, or delights in sinful curiosities, the heart is not merely wandering; it is training itself to love the shadows.

Darkness rarely announces itself as darkness. It often arrives clothed in fascination, curiosity, or private indulgence. Yet every entertained corruption leaves a residue upon the mind, dimming the spiritual sight that was meant to behold the light of Christ. The conscience grows quieter, the will grows weaker, and the soul—once made for communion with God—begins to grow accustomed to the night.

Scripture warns that “everyone who practices evil hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his deeds should be exposed” (John 3:20). The danger is not merely that sinful thoughts appear—temptation itself is common to all—but that the heart chooses to dwell there, to rehearse the corruption, to savor what God has forbidden. In that moment the mind ceases to be a sanctuary and becomes a theater for darkness.

If this pattern is cherished and unrepented, the result is not trivial. The soul that trains itself to prefer darkness will one day find that darkness its dwelling. For the eternal ruin of a person is not an arbitrary sentence imposed from without; it is the final flowering of a life that has refused the light.

Yet the gospel also declares that no darkness is too deep for the light of Christ to penetrate. The same Lord who exposes the shadows also calls sinners into the radiance of His mercy. When the mind turns again toward Him—rejecting the fantasies, resisting the curiosity, fleeing the corruption—the light returns. And where the light of Christ reigns, the darkness cannot remain.

Therefore guard the inner chamber of the mind. For within that unseen sanctuary the destiny of the soul is quietly being shaped—either toward the everlasting dawn of God’s presence, or toward the night that has no morning.

Affection that heaven recognizes

As I consider how deeply I treasure affection from those I love, and remember that I am created in the image of God, a weightier truth continues to unfold: our affection for God is precious to Him. It is not peripheral to devotion; it is its living core.

Obedience, devotion, and pursuit offered without affection ring hollow in His heart. They may impress men, satisfy systems, and preserve appearances, but they do not satisfy God. For the sacrifice of the Lamb was a sweet-smelling aroma not merely because it was costly, but because it was love—pure, infinite affection poured out without reserve.

We are called to follow Him in this way (Ephesians 5:1-2). Yet affection cannot be manufactured, demanded, or produced by self-effort. It is not coerced by fear nor sustained by discipline alone. Affection is born in the heart that beholds God as He truly is—and having seen Him, can no longer remain indifferent.

When The Fear Of God Is Lost

One of the clearest signs that a soul has grown self-righteous, drifted from God, or quietly fallen away is this: it no longer trembles at the word of God.

The holy fear—the inward trembling wrought by the Spirit in hearts freshly washed in the blood of the Lamb—has vanished. What remains is familiarity without awe, language without weight, doctrine without fire.

There are others who have been raised in church—often in very conservative churches—who outwardly adhere to the Sermon on the Mount with strict seriousness, yet have never once trembled before the word of God. They have never seen their own wretchedness because they have never truly known God as He is. They were reared inside a dead religion, one that prides itself on being unlike the world and superior to the worldly church. Their assurance rests not in the fear of the LORD, but in comparison. They remain confident because they still believe the Sermon on the Mount must be kept—and indeed, it must. But obedience divorced from awe easily becomes a pedestal for pride rather than a posture of humility.

Yet Scripture will not allow us such illusions. Even Job, whom God Himself called blameless, trembled when he beheld a manifestation of the Almighty. Even Isaiah cried out in terror when he saw the LORD of hosts in His glory. Neither man congratulated himself on his moral seriousness. Neither stood tall in self-confidence. Both collapsed under the weight of divine holiness.

For when God is truly seen, man is truly revealed.

And the first fruit of that revelation is not self-assurance—but trembling.

The Normal Life of Those Who Know God

If people call you extreme because you take obedience to God seriously, it is not because you have gone too far, but because they have not gone far enough. They do not know God as He is. If they did, obedience would not appear radical to them at all—it would appear normal, even inevitable.

To walk carefully before the Holy One will always look excessive to those who have reduced God to an idea, a symbol, or a cultural accessory. But to those who know Him—who have encountered His weight, His authority, and His nearness—obedience is not extremism; it is sanity.

Borrowed Authority

Borrowed authority is the God-delegated right to act and speak on His behalf, sustained only by obedience and humility, and withdrawn the moment it is claimed as personal possession rather than exercised as sacred stewardship.

The concept of borrowed authority is not derived from a single proof-text, but from a unified biblical pattern that runs from Genesis to Revelation: authority belongs to God alone and is only ever exercised by humans through divine delegation, under obedience, and at God’s discretion.

Below are the primary biblical wells from which the doctrine of borrowed authority is drawn:

1. God as the Sole Source of Authority

All authority originates in God and remains His, even when exercised by others.

“The LORD has established His throne in the heavens,

and His kingdom rules over all.”

— Psalm 103:19

This is the root principle: no creature possesses authority intrinsically. Authority is not a human right; it is a divine trust.

2. Delegated Authority in Creation

From the beginning, humanity’s authority is given, not owned.

“Let Us make man… and let them have dominion…”

— Genesis 1:26

Dominion is granted after creation, not embedded within it. Humanity rules under God, not alongside Him. This establishes authority as derivative, not absolute.

3. Prophetic Authority: “Thus Says the LORD”

The prophets embody borrowed authority more clearly than any group.

“The LORD sent me to prophesy…”

— Jeremiah 26:12

“The LORD has not sent these prophets, yet they ran.”

— Jeremiah 23:21

A prophet’s authority exists only while he speaks what God has spoken. The moment he speaks from himself, the authority collapses. This distinction creates the biblical category of false prophets—men who speak without authorization.

4. Kingship Under Covenant (Not Autonomy)

Israel’s kings ruled by permission, not by right.

“When he sits on the throne… he shall read [the Law] all the days of his life,

that his heart may not be lifted up above his brothers.”

— Deuteronomy 17:18–20

When Saul disobeyed, his kingship was not overthrown by revolt—it was withdrawn by God:

“The LORD has torn the kingdom of Israel from you today.”

— 1 Samuel 15:28

This is borrowed authority revoked.

5. Christ’s Teaching on Delegated Authority

Even Jesus Christ speaks of authority as something given, not assumed.

“All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to Me.”

— Matthew 28:18

He then delegates that authority:

“As the Father has sent Me, even so I am sending you.”

— John 20:21

This establishes a chain: Father → Son → sent ones. Authority flows; it is never self-generated.

6. Christ’s Final Word to Church Leaders

In Revelation, authority is shown to be revocable without overthrow.

“I will remove your lampstand from its place.”

— Revelation 2:5

The church may continue outwardly, but the divine authorization—the lampstand—is removed. This is borrowed authority stripped.

7. Shepherds Accountable to God

The most explicit warning against abused borrowed authority comes in Ezekiel.

“I am against the shepherds…

I will require My sheep at their hand.”

— Ezekiel 34:10

Here, God does not deny that they held authority—He judges how they used what was loaned. The authority is real, but never owned.

A WARNING TO THE SHEPHERDS

Hear the word of the LORD, you who stand behind pulpits, you who wear the language of calling, you who speak often of authority but tremble little before the One who gives it.

Authority in the house of God is not owned. It is loaned. It is breathed, not seized. It rests only where obedience rests. And when obedience departs, authority does not linger out of courtesy.

What many have mistaken for permanence was patience.

THE STRIPPING OF BORROWED AUTHORITY

There is a judgment quieter than fire and sharper than the sword: when God withdraws His endorsement while leaving the structure standing. The building remains. The title remains. The microphone still works. But heaven is no longer listening.

This is how false shepherds are stripped—not by mobs, not by rebellion, not by human overthrow, but by divine disengagement. God simply removes His Name from what He never commanded.

“I am against the shepherds,” says the LORD. Not the sheep. Not the bruised. Not the wandering. The shepherds.

When borrowed authority is stripped, the voice loses weight. Words multiply but do not pierce. Warnings sound, yet do not awaken. Prayers are spoken, yet do not ascend. What once stirred conviction now produces fatigue.

This is not accidental. This is judgment.

FALSE SHEPHERDS

False shepherds love authority but do not love the sheep. They speak much of covering but little of conscience. They protect platforms more fiercely than people and call silence “unity.”

They preach peace where repentance is required. They heal wounds lightly and brand it compassion. They confuse attendance for fruit and applause for anointing.

Their authority is borrowed only in appearance. In truth, it is self-assumed. They did not wait to be sent. They ran. They did not stand in the counsel of the LORD. They stood in branding meetings.

And when God strips them, they do not repent—they double down. They tighten control. They silence questions. They accuse discernment of division.

But the sheep begin to hear the difference. And a stranger’s voice loses its hold.

HIRELINGS

The hireling is not wicked in the same way, but he is dangerous in another. He serves God so long as it costs little. He flees when truth threatens his security. He will not lay down his life, only his schedule.

The hireling does not intend to deceive, yet he will not contend. He avoids wolves not because he loves peace, but because he fears loss. His sermons are safe. His convictions are adjustable. His courage has conditions.

When authority is tested, the hireling yields it—not to God, but to fear. And when stripping comes, it comes as exposure: the realization that what guided him was not obedience, but preservation.

TRUE SHEPHERDS

True shepherds do not clamor for authority because they fear God too much to misuse it. They carry weight because they carry tears. They speak with gravity because they have stood in the breach when no one was watching.

They tremble before the Word before they ever preach it. They are slow to strike and quick to repent. They do not heal themselves with excuses. They do not trade truth for growth.

Their authority survives pruning because it was never self-grown. Even when opposed, heaven stands with them. Even when reduced, their voice remains sharp. Even when hidden, their fruit multiplies.

God does not need to prop them up. He guards them.

A FINAL WARNING

To those who shepherd for gain, for image, for control: your authority is already failing if you must constantly defend it. Borrowed authority does not need protection—it needs obedience.

The LORD will not share His glory with charisma. He will not sanctify manipulation. He will not uphold a voice that silences His own.

He is stripping false shepherds in this hour—not to destroy the Church, but to save the sheep. He is removing lampstands while leaving walls intact. He is exposing the difference between voice and echo, between calling and career.

Let the shepherd repent before the sheep scatter.

For the LORD Himself will shepherd His people. And when He speaks, no borrowed authority will stand in His way.

The Betrayal Of Wanting Another Christ

Jesus’s doctrine, His commandments, and His teachings are in the Scriptures for all to read. They are recorded in the Gospels and woven throughout every New Testament letter. Yet when we read the Bible, it is necessary not only that we read what we already believe, but that we also believe everything we read. Whatever we bring to God’s Word that does not come from God’s Word must be recognized, exposed, and demoted as such. The heart must desire to be true only what is actually the truth. To want anything else is the spirit of idolatry, and the apostle’s admonition still stands with undiminished relevance: “Little children, keep yourselves from idols” (1 John 5:21).

To not want the words of Jesus to be true is like wishing your spouse were more attractive or more skilled—an inward betrayal of the heart. It reveals a desire for something other than the one you claim to love. In the same way, to wish Christ had spoken differently is to wish Christ were different. It is to prefer another Jesus—one fashioned according to our desires rather than the One who actually is.

So let the question be asked: Is there anything Jesus said that you do not want to be true? What happens in you when the words of Jesus confront the words within you? What if, in reading His teachings, you found your heart at variance with what He spoke? Would you walk away from Him—or walk with Him? Would you soften His words, reinterpret them, weaken them, or would you let His words change you?

For the test of true discipleship is not whether His words flatter us, but whether they form us. The issue is never whether His teachings align with our desires, but whether our desires align with His. The question is not whether His words agree with our worldview, but whether our worldview bows to His words. And in the end, every soul must decide: Will I change His words to fit me, or will I be changed by the Word who made me?

The Secret of the LORD is with those who Fear Him.

To flaunt one’s intimacy with the Lord is like publicly describing the secret tenderness shared with one’s spouse — a profaning of what was meant to be sacred.

To parade personal revelations or private moments of divine communion before an audience is to turn holy ground into a stage.

There is a vast difference between what people need to hear and what our pride wants them to hear.

There is more hope for a fool than for one who cannot restrain himself from broadcasting every whisper he claims to have heard from Heaven.

Jesus did not entrust every truth to every crowd.

Some things He declared to all, others to the seventy, still others to the twelve — and then only to the three.

Yet even beyond them were the few who leaned upon His sacred heart: Mary who anointed, and John who beheld.

Even He, the Word Himself, spoke only what He heard the Father saying — and only when He saw the Father saying it.

How much more should we tremble before the temptation to speak too soon, too loosely, too proudly?

Spiritual pride is a subtle thief — it steals reverence while pretending to honor God.

Few things grieve the Holy Spirit more than when His glory is used to feed human ego. Spiritual pride is the deepest of all ditches.

There is a childlike joy in sharing what the Lord has done for us — and that is beautiful.

But let us discern when that joy turns to self-display, when testimony becomes exhibition, when humility gives way to spiritual vanity.

May the Lord deliver us completely from this hidden rot — this dreadful pride that masquerades as devotion — and teach us again the holiness of silence before His majesty.

Yet even in sharing this, I tremble — for words, though meant to help, can also confuse. Some may grow hesitant to speak at all, while others may still rush ahead without hearing. The key is not silence itself, but sensitivity — that sacred discernment born only from personal communion with Him.

Such sensitivity cannot be taught by man. It is learned in the secret place, where the soul comes to truly know Him — not by mere thought or study, but by revelation. It is a knowing that wounds and heals, that humbles and awakens.

This must be guarded — fiercely, tenderly — through daily surrender. Through the death of self-will, through the quiet yielding of every ambition to His whisper. Only then can His voice remain clear, untainted by pride or presumption.

A Call to Holy Fire

Beloved, a tempest is gathering, and the hour approaches when no philosophy, no fleeting debate, no fleeting pleasure, nor any tangled web of theological dogma will sustain you. What your soul will crave—nay, demand—is an all-consuming, holy love that blazes with unyielding fervor, a faith in Christ that surges ever upward, and a pure, weighty fear of God, kindled by the Holy Spirit as you yield in absolute surrender and unwavering obedience. You must have joy unspeakable, radiant with glory, a fire that cannot be quenched. Without cleaving to the Lord your God with every fiber of your heart, soul, mind, and strength, you will falter, unable to endure to the end. The cares of this world will choke you, its deceits will sweep you away in a torrential flood, and when persecution crashes like a storm, you will stumble into a bottomless pit, finding no bottom for your feet.

KEEP YOUR FIRST LOVE BURNING! Do not let it flicker. Some of your pursuits—endless debates, idle fascinations—are like hurling bricks into the sacred fire that the Spirit of God once ignited in your heart. Remember that moment when your eyes were opened, when you saw the stark vanity and sinfulness of your ways? You cried out to God, tasted His grace, and were stirred with holy awe to labor for His kingdom—preaching the Gospel, serving the broken, and studying His Word to stand approved. What fire are you feeding now? The divine flame that fell upon the altar of your surrendered heart, or the cold, eternal embers of outer darkness? What you sow, you shall reap. Are you spiritually starved, your strength waning? Examine what you scatter through the week—chasing fleeting ideas or shallow discussions? REPENT!

Are you a voice crying out, a hand extended to deliver the afflicted, the orphan, the widow, those dead in their trespasses and sins? Are you one heralding in the desolate wilderness of this world, “Prepare the way of the Lord!”—or are you adding to the chaos, the hypocrisy, the coldness, and the death that festers around us, justified by hollow words? Are you a blazing torch, piercing the shadows of streets, neighborhoods, and town squares, or are you blending into the darkness, sipping at its vanities while musing over novel ideas and clever disputes?

Does the weight of Christ’s heart press upon you daily? Can you feel the sorrow and grief that marked Him, the Man of Sorrows, so intimately acquainted with the world’s pain? Walk with Christ, and when the hour of trial comes, you will lack nothing. Cling to Him, and His strength will be your fortress, His love your fire, His truth your unshakable foundation!

Burning for the Beloved: A Lifelong Quest for Christ's Presence

Nearly twenty-five years ago, when the cleansing tide of grace first washed over my soul, my heart awoke each morning with a singular, fervent pursuit: to discern the favor of God. With ardent longing, I sought His presence, chasing after the One whom my soul adored—the One who ignited my spirit with His ineffable flame, my Savior, Jesus Christ. In those sacred moments, I yearned for the tangible, experiential embrace of my First Love, a divine connection that set my soul ablaze with hallowed purpose and devotion.

A holy unrest stirred within me if I rose from slumber and failed to immediately sense His nearness. It was a sacred ache, a divine discontent that refused to settle for anything less than His presence. I needed Him—not as a distant memory or a fleeting thought, but as the very breath of my existence. I wanted Him with an intensity that eclipsed all else. Before His salvation and friendship transformed my life, I was cloaked in misery, lost in the shadows of despair. Bound by demons and methamphetamine. But from the moment He claimed me, I became consumed, utterly captivated by an obsession for His presence.

I recall those early days vividly—crying out with unrestrained passion, my soul restless and fervent until I felt the warmth of His nearness envelop me. My heart would leap, my spirit would soar, as I surrendered to the divine dance of His love. But now, as I stand in the present, I pause to reflect: What stirs my heart at dawn today? What thoughts ignite my soul as the first light breaks? Does my spirit still pant after Him with the same unquenchable thirst that once defined my every breath? If His everlasting fullness remains boundless—an infinite wellspring of grace and glory—how could I ever grow complacent or satisfied with less than all of Him?

To dwell on past encounters with His love, however blissful, cannot sustain me now. Just as yesterday’s feasts cannot fill today’s hunger, so too do cherished memories fall short of satisfying the soul’s deepest craving. I need Him now—today, tomorrow, and every day henceforth, through the endless expanse of eternity. My heart cries out with renewed fervor: Come, Lord Jesus, come!

Christ is all.

"If then you were raised with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sits at the right hand of God. Set your affections on things above, not on things on the earth" (Colossians 3:1-2).

AMEN, and when He said, "seek those things which are above" he was sure to add, "where Christ sits ". He was careful to not mislead the appetites of the carnally minded when he added, "where Christ sits". He didn't want them to turn from earthly objects to heavenly objects, for that would only be cloaking a carnal mind with a heavenly garb. The emphasis is where Christ sits. 

He seemed to be leading us to seek a plurality by using the word "things" but his message was very singular when he said, "where Christ sits". 

Need wisdom, lack power, do you desire to know the humility and personality of the Eternal Self Existent One? Christ is the "wisdom" and "power" of God, the very "brightness of God's glory and the express image of His nature, authority, and character". For this reason the angels never cease crying out "Holy", for in that eternal and heavenly abode they do not cease beholding Him who sits on the throne. We too would cry with them if we would but seek Him, find Him, and set our affections upon Him.

Paul began with a clarion call to turn our gaze upwards to Christ Himself, in pursuit of Him and then for all to set their affections on things above, namely, those things only found in Him, while seeking Him. 

For that is the natural flow for all true Christian experience. First a seeking, a seeking that is singular in nature. Then a finding of what was sought, which always leads to an inward arousal of affections fixed solely upon the single object of desire, even Christ Himself.