Blog - Page 21 of 185

Until it doesn’t.

You must have heard it, seen it on television – or at least, read it; “We live in a world… governed by strength, governed by force, governed by power.” Deputy chief of staff, Stephen Miller speaking on behalf of the President of the United States of America. #Other comments are available.

And looking at the the seeming release of the four horses of the apocalypse by the occupier of Mar-a-Lago it sounds about right, doesn’t it? Feels like something Sun Tzu might nod at. Or Colin Powell. It’s certainly the provocative kind of thing you’d hear in a war room. It’s the voice of experience, hardened by reality. And plenty of people hear that and may think, “Finally – someone telling it like it is.”

But let’s be honest. What we often call “realism” is just surrender dressed up as wisdom. It’s the quiet decision to let the world stay broken and impose… That’s not insight. It’s just giving up on the idea that God still runs the place – not that everyone in the war rooms knows or appreciates that.

And Rome, they thought they were the greatest empire ever. Ever. Nobody like them. They said it all the time. The strongest. The smartest. Tremendous power. People were talking about it constantly. Everyone knew it. Or so they thought.

But Jesus saw right through it. He always does. Judea wasn’t safe, the kingdom didn’t come wrapped in comfort and yet, He stood there – eye to eye with the crowd and said the unexpected, “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

Not the muscle-bound. Not the PR-savvy. Not the ones who win or fix the the vote or who own the algorithm.

The meek.

Meekness doesn’t mean you roll over. It’s not spiritual timidity. This isn’t Jesus with a clipboard. It’s Jesus with scars. Meekness means you’ve got strength, but it’s harnessed. It’s courage that doesn’t shout. Power that doesn’t need to prove itself. The meek don’t grab the world by force. They know who it belongs to, and they wait for Him to hand it over.

Jesus modelled that. When they tried to crown Him by force, He unceremoniously just walked away from them. Later, w\hen Peter having hear all that Jesus began to do and teach reached for the sword, Jesus told him to put it down. Finally, when after being beaten and whipped Jesus stood before Pilate, His fate seemingly in Pilate’s hands He didn’t reach for power. He spoke the truth, and let His Father decide the outcome.

That’s not just restraint. That’s kingdom confidence.

The world puts its faith in missiles, markets, and men with microphones. The church looks to a crucified King. It looks back on Psalm 20 asserting with confidence, “Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.”

And the cross? It wasn’t an interruption to the mission. It was the mission. Rome flexed everything it had. It looked like the end. But it wasn’t. It was God, using surrender to conquer what force never could. Christ did not fail to overpower evil. He crushed it by enduring it.

And here’s where it engages us. When the church starts thinking we need to match the world’s power, play its game, speak its language – we lose more than our credibility. We totally lose the plot. The message gets shaped by ‘what works’, not by what’s true.

There’s nothing wrong with strength, but if it hasn’t been to the cross, if it hasn’t died there first, it’s not safe. The way of Jesus doesn’t sit alongside other strategies. It’s not one option on the table. It is the table.

So when someone says, “Power runs the world,” you don’t have to argue. Just look around. Ask yourself – who’s still standing when the dust settles? Who holds the earth? And then walk out and engage the world like you believe it.

Four words for you?

Full. Radical. Sustained. Realignment.

Those four words might sound like they belong on a Bethel conference poster. But they’re not marketing. They’re a mirror. Not a prophetic new-year agenda for 2026, but my own personal reckoning of what is always important for me as I watch my own heart. They name what’s needed – not out there somewhere, but right here in me and perhaps (you know your own heart) for all of us who dare to follow Jesus when it would be easier to grab a cup of hot drink, a rich tea biscuit, and settle. Snooze. There, there.

Revelation 3 doesn’t come with small talk. Thunder claps and echoes in the church in Sardis as Jesus says, “You have a reputation for being alive, but you are dead.” That’s not just feedback. That’s an adrenalin rush. You read it, and something in you freezes because He’s not speaking to the obviously corrupt. He’s talking to a church with momentum, memory, and the appearance of health. Everything looks good. What’s missing is reality. The fire has gone out, and no one noticed. Yes, it’s a message to a corporate Church, but if the cap fits…

It’s not condemnation either. It’s a call. A wake-up. It’s the alarm call that rings when you have come down stairs early and forgot to turn off the annoying beeping clock before you staggered around the kitchen like a Neanderthal looking for fresh coffee. It’s the Spirit who brings that word, not to crush but to rouse. Wake up, strengthen what remains. That’s not a demand to pull socks up and try harder. It’s an invitation to return to the source of life. Remember what you received and heard. That’s gospel language reeling them back in. The Spirit is not interested in behaviour management. He breathes life. Where there’s drift, He brings direction. Where there’s death, He brings resurrection.

At Emmanuel Sheffield, we’ve just opened a new series in Hebrews by naming what often stays unnamed: drift. And here’s the thing about drift. No one plans it. No one sets out to coast. But it happens. Quietly. Slowly. Not through defiance, but through distraction. One compromised life-imparting habit. One delayed response. One spiritual shortcut. And then the gap between appearance and reality widens, and we’re left with the shell of faith, but not the life.

Visitors to this site know I always pull the Old Testament into the story because it adds colour to the discussion. Joshua 24 does that for us. There he is – no drama. No hype. Just a prophet-commander standing before Israel, steady and clear-minded, saying, “Choose this day whom you will serve.” Not someday. Today. Not based on past zeal. Not on heritage, hearsay or history. But a call for ‘here and now.’ After rehearsing the faithfulness of God – how He called, delivered, fed, and remained with them – Joshua elicits a radical response, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

And here we are, that same Spirit who called Israel through Joshua now speaks through Jesus. And He’s calling not for effort, but for realignment.

It’s not for you (unless of course you want to join me) but the challenge in my own heart for the years ahead is one of engaging, wrestling and ultimately one of grace-led surrender:

Full – because the cross was never about partial commitment. Jesus didn’t offer His time, His wisdom, or His prayers – He offered His blood. He gave everything. Held nothing back. And He did it for those who weren’t reaching out for Him, but running in the opposite direction. The gospel doesn’t start with our effort. It starts with His sacrifice. And the Spirit doesn’t come to accessorise a Christian life. He comes to take over, to fill the whole person. Not just the public profile or the Sunday best. He wants access to my buried pain, my hidden motives, the rooms I keep locked, because only when He fills everything can anything truly change. This is not about being ‘on fire’ for a week. It’s about being lit by the kind of revival-renewing-reforming flame that doesn’t burn out.

Radical – because the gospel doesn’t tease or play with your life. It redefines it. It’s not a self-help programme with a religious twist. It’s death and resurrection. You were dead. Now you’re alive. You were blind. Now you see. That’s not tweaking. That’s transformation. The Spirit doesn’t just help you manage sin better. He breaks its power. He rewires your desires. And He does it in the grit of ordinary life – how you speak, how you spend, how you love your neighbour, how you carry your cross. To follow Jesus isn’t just to believe in Him. It’s to go where He goes. And sometimes, He leads you straight into discomfort. Into places where your ‘reputation’ doesn’t matter and your only strength is grace. But that’s where real freedom begins. This is the challenge to compromise and casual lifestyle, the lifestyle that knows nothing of miracles, signs and wonders, healings, miracles and God’s power at work.

Sustained – because spiritual intensity without endurance is just noise. It fades. It burns bright and then fizzles. But the Spirit produces something deeper than excitement. He produces character and fruit that grows in the dark (in private) as much as in the light. The Holy Spirit stirs faith that keeps showing up when the crowd has moved on. We’re not promised a life without hardship, but we are promised that “He who began a good work will bring it to completion.” That’s the kind of faith that builds altars – places of engagement– in the wilderness. That still prays when the answer is slow or afar off, instead it holds the line when compromise looks the easier option. It’s not flashy, but it lasts.

And finally realignment – because every day, we’re pulled, tugged and dragged off-centre. By culture. By distraction. By our own hearts. By good stuff. And every day, the Spirit hand-holds us, bringing us back. Not with guilt-trips. But with grace. With the kind of conviction that doesn’t shame but invites. Realignment isn’t a religious chore. It’s a response to love. It’s turning back, and turning back, and turning back to the One who turned toward us first. It’s seeing and encountering yet again the mercy that met us at our worst and didn’t flinch. It’s remembering that the authentic gospel isn’t just the way in – it’s the only way forward. And so we keep returning. Not to earn. But to rest. Not to prove. But to worship. With joy. The Spirit calls us, not into a tighter grip on rules, but into a deeper surrender to Jesus.

Are these four words a prophetic word? Well, they stir in my heart so they are for for me and sometimes, prophetic people can run, giving their own bread away. If we are on the same page together, then why not?

God is always calling hearts back to life. Full. Radical. Sustained. Realigned. By grace. Through the Spirit. For the glory of God. Here comes the Church …