Don’t host Him

You’re the guest!

God hosting OUR presence ...

“The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein.” (Ps 24:1) That’s not just a nice verse for a fridge magnet, it’s a line of ownership. Of authority. God isn’t circling above like Air Force One, waiting for someone to give Him access. He reigns. Always has. And His presence isn’t a concept to be managed. It’s a profound reality to be recognised.

We don’t host God. He’s the one who made room for us. Every breath we take, every space we gather in – it’s already His. He doesn’t wait for us to create the right atmosphere before He draws near. He’s already near. What He does invite, though, is response. “Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.” (James 4:8) That’s not God stepping in from the edge, that’s Him meeting us in our turning, revealing Himself to the willing, the weary, the hungry. Not because He was far, but because we couldn’t see. God’s always at work, but often it is as the military jet pilots say, ‘beyond visual range’.

I’m being a little naughty here, I understand the language many of us in the charismatic church have used; “Hosting His presence.” I’ve said it too. We want to honour Him. To prepare something worthy. But in trying to express our longing, we sometimes shaped our theology around it. Like God’s arrival depended on the mood we set, the prayers we prayed, the worship we offered. As though His presence was reactive. But it’s not. Understanding this is actually good news …

The veil wasn’t torn by intensity, or any ‘stuff-of-life’ things we do. It was torn by crucifixion. This is important for us. Christ entered the Holy Place by His own blood, not by ours. That changed everything. Why mention this? Access was granted not as reward, but as gift. Not to the spiritually elite, but to all who come through the Son. We’re not waiting for Him to enter, He’s already welcomed us in.

The Holy Spirit doesn’t rest on a meeting or a gathering because we finally got things just right. He dwells because Christ made it holy, made us holy. The church as we gather is sanctified by the Lamb, not the liturgy. It changes the way we gather, the way we pray, the way we think about presence because ultimately, we’re not creating an environment to convince God to come. We’re learning to live aware of the One who already has.

We are hungry for God’s presence. Probably more than we realise. The days of the Toronto outpouring seem so very long ago – and they are – but those times marked us, transformed us. That tangible, heavy, manifest presence of God was, well, just there … You’d be standing at your desk midweek and think about Jesus, and suddenly feel the weight of His Presence rest on you again. It was profound. And God knows that hunger we have. Perhaps there’s a call in this hour for a radical, audacious faith – to gather again. Not around the things we do (avoiding offense here!), but around His name alone. To cry out aloud – ”God, reveal Yourself. Unveil Your presence.” No agenda. No script. Just to wait. And wait. That’s what those early Wimber meetings were like in the 80’s. Unhurried. Tender. Expectant. He’d simply say, “Come, Holy Spirit.” And He did. Because He was already near, and the people were ready to respond.

None of this diminishes our very real hunger for God’s nearness. That longing is not misplaced and highly commendable, but it needs grounding. Are we longing for a moment, or for communion? For an emotional wave, or the One who abides? Stays. Remains. Jesus didn’t say, “If you build it I’ll come” like something from the Field of dreams film. Build something and I’ll visit.” He said, “Abide in me, and I in you.” That’s not a spiritual exchange. That’s invitation.

So when we speak of His presence, perhaps the better posture is not one of hosting, but of recognising. Of responding. The Lord of all has already drawn near. He’s the Great Host, calling us in, making space for the ones He redeemed – at His table, by His grace. He’s hosting – and we’re invited.

Hear the singing 288 years ago, “Bold I approach the eternal throne, And claim the crown, through Christ my own …” Charles Wesley 1738

Dreams That Interrupt

Night language for day assignments

gold pyramid on brown wooden table

There are moments in the night – just before waking – when something stirs. A flicker of something meaningful, encouraging, holy. You can’t quite name it. Maybe a phrase half-heard, the weight of a warning, or simply a presence you didn’t invite. Then it’s gone. I’ve laid many times one minute before the alarm went off, frantically trying to rewind, replay the dream, but it was gone. “What was it they said? What did they do? What was that cloud hovering in the room?” Sometimes you even try to shake it off, reach for coffee, and tell yourself it was nothing. It was weird, maybe just the brain wandering through its quiet corridors – brain cleansing, resetting? But what if it wasn’t nothing?

Elihu, that curious voice that speaks aloud in the book of Job – young, fiery, mostly right – once said that God speaks “in one way, and in two, though man does not perceive it.” That’s an accurate assertion. And then he almost whispers… “In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falls on men, while they slumber on their beds, then he opens the ears of men.” (Job 33:14–18) That’s school of the prophets material. It’s an insight into how God sometimes sidesteps our waking resistance. He speaks when we’re too tired to argue. Too still to filter. And sometimes, what He says in that dark silence is strong enough to reroute a believers whole life.

Now, we needn’t get dramatic. Not every dream is divine. Some are just tired and weary brains trying to sort the soot of life in a more creative form. The mind has its own ways of sweeping the floor. But there are dreams that carry weight. They don’t flatter. They don’t entertain. They warn. They stir you deeply. They invite you to repent, or rise, or intercede. And they don’t leave quickly. They are like, “the dawn is breaking, but I’m not leaving until you consciously respond.”

Joel’s prophecy made room for this. Old men dreaming dreams. Young men seeing visions. The Spirit resting on sons and daughters alike. The voice of God is not trapped in an age bracket. It doesn’t retire. It isn’t reserved for a few. It breaks into sleep with heaven’s agenda.

But how do we know it’s Him? It’s an important question.

We start with the Word. Always. God does not stammer. He does not contradict Himself. A dream that sidesteps Scripture, justifies compromise, or strokes your pride – it’s not from Him. But if the dream calls you to surrender, to holiness, to courage in the face of fear, to ‘look up’ rather than give up – then slow down and listen. Write it down. The profound details that seem strange might be the very ones the Spirit uses to clarify things later. And be patient. Not every revelation demands immediate interpretation. Some truths arrive slowly, like the dawn that I mentioned earlier.

And then, the test of all revelation: obedience. Has the dream shifted your steps? Has it cost you comfort? Has it drawn you closer to Jesus or sent you toward someone in need? A dream that doesn’t change you hasn’t finished speaking – or perhaps, you haven’t finished listening.

I’ve known lives turn because of one midnight warning. I’ve seen people walk away from disaster, not because they were wise, but because the Spirit whispered while they slept. None of them would call themselves prophets. They just listened. And they acted. And now you walk into this narrative. Has God been speaking to you in the night?

Dreams aren’t the gospel. But they often bring us back to it. To the One who slept through storms, who woke to silence them., who only spoke what He first heard from the Father. And even before His crucifixion, a Roman woman’s dream bore witness to His innocence.

Heaven doesn’t sleep, but sometimes, when we do, it speaks.