Blog - Page 49 of 185

All things are possible

In my home group, we’ve been going through Wendy Mann’s excellent Naturally Supernatural course. This week, we found ourselves right in the thick of Isaiah 61 and the Kingdom of God. We were talking about how, in Christ, we’ve been pulled into this astonishing adventure – not just as spectators, but as participants. It’s not theory, it’s life. Not distant promises, but present reality. And it all hinges on a moment in Scripture that still hits like a lightning bolt.

So picture this.

Jesus, as usual, turns up unexpectedly in his hometown. Not just anywhere – Nazareth, the place where everybody knows your name. Like the Aldi or Lidl guy, your old schoolmates or your mum’s friend who still calls you by your childhood nickname. They’ve seen him grow up. Seen him hammer nails, help Joseph fix roofs, probably even watched him play football with the kids down the street – well, whatever first-century football was.

And now this boy they all knew walks into the synagogue on the Sabbath. Calm, collected. And what does he do?

He stands up to read. They hand him the scroll of the prophet Isaiah. Not just any passage. Isaiah 61 – the big one. The one soaked in hope, dripping with longing, the promise that’s been echoing for centuries:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives
and recovering of sight to the blind,
to set at liberty those who are oppressed,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”
(Luke 4:18–19, quoting Isaiah 61:1–2, ESV)

You could hear a pin drop. This wasn’t just poetic. This was personal. The people listening? They weren’t just thinking about some vague spiritual metaphor. They were waiting for freedom from Roman rule. They were waiting for healing, justice, breakthrough. They were waiting for the one who’d flip the whole system as if it were a giant tortoise.

And Jesus – he rolls the scroll back up, hands it to the attendant, sits down.

Silence.

Tick, tick, tick … Isaiah’s prophecy, 700 long years before, begins to creak…

Every eye is locked on him.

And he says the line. That line. The line that slices through history like lightning:

“Today, this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”

Hold up. What?

Today? Not someday. Not “in the sweet by-and-by.” Not “when the Messiah comes.” He says today. Not just a promise anymore. Not a far-off dream. He’s saying: “It’s me. I’m him. The time is now.”

You can almost feel the air get sucked out the room. Like when someone says something so real, so bold, you’re not sure whether to cheer or run. The carpenter’s son just declared that he’s the one Isaiah was talking about – 700 years before. Jesus is the One, the one who sets people free, with healing in his hands, who walks into broken lives and rewrites the story.

They didn’t like it, and unlike Simon Cowell, they didn’t love it either – they tried to throw him off a cliff five minutes later. Not because he was boring, but because he was dangerous. Too real. Too close.

Jesus was saying: “I didn’t come to play it safe. I came to turn everything upside down. For the poor, for the blind, for the captives, for the ones on the outside.” And the people in Nazareth – who thought they were on the inside – felt the sting.

Jesus still points back to those words today.

“This day, it is fulfilled.” Right now. In the middle of your mess. Your pain. Your waiting. Jesus isn’t offering a theory or a theology degree – he’s offering himself. He’s not just quoting promises. He is the promise. He walks into your life, sits in your story, and says, “Freedom? It’s here. Healing? It starts now. Hope? It’s not postponed.”

And now he turns to you and says, “Go. Go heal the sick. Cleanse the lepers. Cast out demons. Raise the dead. Share the gospel. Bring good news to the poor.” That same Spirit – the Spirit of the Sovereign Lord – is not just on him. It’s on you. Not someday. Today. Even if you are not ready for it.

It doesn’t mean you have to start preaching in the shopping centre or fly to a conflict zone. It might mean praying for healing in your small group, offering peace where there’s panic, or calling out truth where there’s despair. It might look like forgiving someone who’s hurt you, or daring to believe that your ordinary Friday could carry the presence of an extraordinary God. Wherever you are, if you belong to Jesus, you carry his Spirit – and you carry his mission.

We don’t do this in our own strength. We move because he moves in us. We listen first, then act. His Spirit leads, empowers, and gives us words when we feel lost for them. He doesn’t ask us to hype ourselves up. He asks us to trust him and step out.

Let’s face it, in today’s world gripped by ferocious, mindless violence – Russia’s war in Ukraine, the chaos in Gaza, political upheaval and instability, lies, pain, suffering and heartbreak pressing in from every side – we don’t, can’t, must not wait for a special day. We don’t wait for a more peaceful moment unless we are spiritually dull, have lost our cutting edge, and are struggling to remain or be relevant. (Elephant in the room.) The scroll has already been read. The words have already been spoken. The promise was already fulfilled – somewhere around AD 33.

Fulfilled. Done. Happened.

Now we step up and into it. This day has become your day. Not because you’re ready – but because he is.

So let’s live like it’s true – because it is. Speak like it’s true. Love, pray, risk, and hope – because this world is desperate for people who know what day it is.

Nice cave – nice view …

brown rock formation on green grass field during daytime

The midday heat of the desert sapped his strength. Elijah stood at last on Mount Horeb, the mountain of God. He hadn’t come here for the view.

He’d come because he was done. Spiritually drained. Emotionally unravelled. Terrified by a woman’s threat. That’s the part we don’t like to talk about. That hte man who called down fire from heaven could be shaken by a single voice, Jezebel’s. But that’s how evil works. It doesn’t always need a sword. Sometimes all it takes is a whisper to undo a weary heart.

Ahead, a small cave-a crack in the rock, casting just enough shade to hide. He stepped in.

Pause! You recognise the scene. You once fought hard. You believed. You stood your ground, and still, something broke. Not your faith, maybe, but your fight. You asked questions no one dared voice – elephant in the room stuff. Oops. Then, you prayed for the exit door. Like Elijah, you said, “It is enough.”

Maybe it was disappointment. Maybe rejection. Or sheer exhaustion. Maybe you watched others rise while you were left behind, still ploughing the field, still holding the line, unseen, uncelebrated, and honestly, just tired.

Here’s what we get wrong about Elijah’s story. We turn it into some attractive, dramatic, mystical moment. We think the mountain was about a Hollywood epic of wind, earthquakes and fire. It wasn’t. It was about silence. Grit. A man of God, spent and hiding, because he thought his best days were behind him.

God stepped in, as always, and told him to come to this mountain. It would be a hard, gruelling climb up the mountain, but if you want answers, help, then even if you are broken, you still have to obey. That matters. Elijah didn’t end up in the cave because he disobeyed. He ended up there because obedience doesn’t make you immune to exhaustion. It just means you’re right where God can meet you.

So God speaks: “What are you doing here, Elijah?” Really?

That question isn’t a slap. It’s a mirror. God’s not confused. He knows exactly what’s going on. He’s just giving Elijah a moment to say it out loud. To come clean. To face the truth that he’s not as strong as he thought he was, and here’s what you need to hear-that’s not failure. That’s faith in its rawest form. You don’t have to pretend. God already knows. He’s not waiting for the performance. He’s waiting for the truth.

And after the storm and fire pass, God speaks again, this time in a whisper. And that whisper carries the next set of instructions. It’s not over, Elijah. But your part’s about to shift. You’re going to anoint kings. You’re going to pass the mantle. You’re not alone, and you’re not done. You may be tired, but the call still stands.

Meanwhile, down in a dusty field, a man named Elisha is ploughing with twelve oxen. No fanfare. No fire. Just hands on the yoke, dirt in his nails. And God sees him. Quiet obedience in hidden places. That’s how hte kingdom moves.

Some of you may be in the cave, burned out, struggling, crying, watching your own breath and wondering if you’ve still got a future. Others are in the field, faithful, overlooked, tired of watching the less qualified get picked. Either way, this story is for you.

God meets the broken. He restores the weary. And He calls the overlooked.

And yes, sometimes we need a reality check-we’re not the first to feel like giving up. We’re not suffering more than anyone else. Some of us just need to stop being mardy, lift our heads, and remember: the cave is not the end.

Jesus, too, entered the silence. Faced the terror. Bore the full weight of despair, not just for Himself, but for us. And because He did, you can get up again. You can go back the way you came. You can pick up the mantle. The cross proves this: the call still stands, even when the fire fades.

So here it is. The whisper still speaks. And God-He is not done with you.