Or are you a follower of Christ?

This is a question we’ve all heard or answered for ourselves…

At some point in the distant past, somewhere along the way, “ask Jesus into your heart” became the Christian buzz phrase. It’s short. It’s simple. It fits neatly into a tweet, but the gospel was never set out to be compressed into a catchphrase.

If you’re reading this on your phone, or scrolling while your coffee cools, stop for a second. Pull up 2 Corinthians 3:18. Let that verse sink in. Paul says we’re being transformed into Christ’s image — not instantly, not by accident, but from one degree of glory to another. Almost incrementally, one prayer at a time, one sermon at a time, one DBS group gathered around a log burner at a time… And how? By beholding Him. Not by scripting a perfect prayer or by closing your eyes, squinting and trying to feel something, but by looking at Him — with unveiled face — and letting the Spirit do what only the Spirit can do. Your part? Not by inviting Him “in” — that would make you the initiator — but by following Him, responding to His outstretched grace.

You know the story well enough: when Peter stood in front of the crowd at Pentecost, fresh with the fire of the Spirit and the weight of the resurrection still hanging in the air, he didn’t say, “Invite Jesus in.” He said, “Repent. Be baptised. Every one of you.” That’s not a polite invitation. That’s a call to lay down your life.

Jesus never said, “Add me to your Sunday routine.” He said, “Follow me.” And when He said that, people dropped everything. Boats. Nets. Careers. Reputations. Their whole way of being. They weren’t signing up for inspiration — they were surrendering to a revolution. Being a witness carried its own implication, especially as the Greek word for witness is where we derive the word martyr. Follow. Follow. Follow…

For us, we like to mark the moment. We like certainty. In the past I have invited, both in person and from the pulpit, people to ask Jesus into their heart. It’s an understandable sort of convenience. We want to point to a line in the sand, an Instagram story, a timestamp that says: “This was it — the turning point.” But God doesn’t work like that. He’s not an algorithm waiting for your response. He’s the God who forms hearts in secret and stirs faith before a word is spoken.

The real danger or challenge isn’t the phrase itself. It’s what we lose when we make salvation a personal moment rather than a divine miracle. We risk turning gospel into gesture or a binary option. We trade ‘follow me’ for ‘feel something’, and call it faith.

Salvation isn’t a mood. It’s not about how moved you feel during a Worship song or how many goose-bumps you got during the sermon. It’s about Jesus. Crucified. Risen. Reigning. It’s about a cross that did what no heart-invitation ever could — it cancelled sin. Forever. Thud! Done! Justification — redemption…

Here’s the thing; you didn’t initiate this. The Spirit did. He’s not some background feature in the gospel story — He’s the one who started the whole thing in you. You think you just wandered into church one day, clicked a YouTube sermon by accident, or scrolled past ‘that’ verse in Romans? No. That was Him. Providence and Sovereignty come naturally to God!

He chooses, convicts, reveals and breathes life into dead bones. Before you even knew what to pray, the Spirit was already moving. That whisper that told you “there’s more” — that was Him. The tear you couldn’t explain? Also Him.

Faith doesn’t start with you. It starts with grace. And justification — being declared right with God — doesn’t wait until you’ve got the language perfect. It doesn’t demand a perfectly phrased prayer. It responds to the heart that says, “Jesus, I trust you. I need you. I’m done doing this on my own.” And that moment? That turning? That’s where it begins, initiated by the Holy Spirit as He drew you to Him.

Don’t mistake beginning (starting to believe, follow and obey) for finishing. Jesus didn’t call us to raise our hand once while all eyes were closed, secretly coming to Jesus! He called us to die daily. To walk. To stumble. To grow. From one degree of glory to the next. Discovering daily grace upon grace.

This isn’t about converting people, this is about making disciples. Followers. People who wake up each day and choose to trust Jesus more than they did yesterday. It’s not clean. It’s not always clear. But it’s real.

And it’s not something you do alone. Faith is personal, yes — but it’s never private. The early church didn’t follow Jesus in isolation. They broke bread — together. Prayed — together. Got baptised. Sat under teaching. Not one of them tried to follow Jesus with just an Andrew Wilson podcast and a coffee.

So perhaps, and old habits die hard, let’s stop asking people to invite Jesus into their hearts like He’s a guest hoping for a spare room. He’s not looking to fit into your schedule. He’s tearing down the house and building something entirely new. Our part is to gather with everyone else on the narrow path, and step by step begin to follow.

If you’re wondering whether you’ve crossed the line with Jesus, here’s the better question: Are you following Him now? Not did you feel something once, or can you remember the date — but is your life, your heart, your direction leaning into Jesus? Is your heart strangely warmed, especially at the mention of His name?

If so, the Spirit’s at work. You don’t need a certificate to prove it. Just keep walking. Keep trusting. Keep turning toward the One who already finished what you never could.

What about justification? Well, it’s not a feeling or a flash of light. It’s the divine verdict over every sinner who leans their whole weight on Christ. And that moment — whenever faith truly ignites — is not just a new beginning. It’s a resurrection.

So open the Book. Look again at the cross. Then read that verse: “Beholding the glory of the Lord, we are being transformed… from one degree of glory to another.” (2 Corinthians 3:18, ESV)

That’s not a quick fix. That’s the long, slow miracle of the Spirit. That’s salvation.

And that’s the gospel — so treasure, cherish and be totally overwhelmed by the One you are following, the true Hero of Heaven; the victorious Redeemer who conquered sin, death, and the grave.

Stillness isn’t passive — it’s defiant trust in a restless world. Drop the noise. Open the Word. Light the fire again.

“Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!” — Psalm 46:10 (ESV)

I heard this verse again on Sunday — not for the first time, but in a way that wouldn’t let go. My friend James was preaching, and somewhere between the reading and the moments that followed, those words landed with weight. Heavy. Honest. Holy. Three big aitches!

With 8.2 billion people alive right now and this site buried in the far corners of the internet, this note serves more as a journal entry for me — a way of marking something important and necessary in the dust and noise of the present.

The phrase “Be still” isn’t asking for a calming cup of camomile tea and a nap. The meaning of the phrase speaks of surrender. Let go. Cease striving. Drop the illusion of control. It’s not a gentle whisper; it’s a military stand-down — release your grip.

Tighten you grip on your phone, I’m about to wander down a bunny trail but when we emerge at the other end it will all make sense. I hope.

A World Addicted to Hurry

John Mark Comer once said, “Hurry is violence on the soul.” He’s not wrong. His book The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry quotes Corrie ten Boom: “If the devil can’t make you sin, he’ll make you busy.”

He’s a good writer, but as a reformed thinker I don’t agree with Comer on everything. Sometimes it feels like he puts a bit too much focus on what we need to do, rather than what Jesus has already done. The Bible is clear: God is the one who starts and finishes the work in us (Philippians 1:6). This life isn’t built on better habits or spiritual routines, helpful as they may be. It’s about the power of the Holy Spirit changing us from the inside out — because of the cross, not apart from it.

Hurrying in our 1GB download lives leads to business, but the issue isn’t just that we’re busy. The issue is that we’re busy in the wrong direction. The enemy, our enemy, doesn’t need you to fall into sin or do evil — just to be distracted, numb, and so full of activity that you forget what stillness is even for. In this frantic age, Psalm 46:10 is not just a command; it is a lifeline.

Such stillness of Ps 46 becomes resistance and the ensuing silence becomes a sanctuary. Not for escape, but for engagement — the kind that actually matters; Intimacy with God – without which we’ll never see God.

There’s an antidote to the chaos we face in our busy, frantic lives, a medicine for the aching heart; and that’s to hear God’s voice so we can obey Him. How on earth does that happen? If you want to hear God — open your Bible.

The written Word cuts through the fog. It steadies the soul. Reading Scripture isn’t about ticking boxes or collecting verses like merit badges. It’s about immersion. Anchoring yourself in the truth of who God is, what He’s done, and what He’s still doing. See Him in action, moving, calling, equipping…

In a culture drowning in opinions, the Word stands unshaken. Not always trendy or tweetable (or should that be ‘X’able?) It’s eternal. You can’t live — really live — without it. If you’re not soaking in Scripture, you’re soaking in something else — most likely fear, anxiety, half-truths, and half-hearted, scatter-gun theology. Daily time in the Word is not about earning points with God, it’s about remembering who holds the pen, especially when the plot thickens. And it will, and then you see what God has already written. With you in mind.

Stillness without the Word drifts into sentiment and poems about flowers — nice, but not life-transforming. Stillness rooted in Scripture, gazing at eternal treasures and divinely breathed promises and reassurances, stands like granite.

There is no stillness without the Spirit. There is no transformation without fire. Revival is a prime example. It may seem at this point that we’ve left the text from Psalm 46 and headed to the woods, but bear with me — there is a connection.

Revival isn’t nostalgia. It’s not a return to emotionalism. It’s the people of God, surrendered and saturated, filled with the Spirit and unwilling to settle for lifeless religion. We weren’t called to spectate. We were summoned to participate. Be still — let go of your grip — and grip what God is doing…

You are not a side character in the Kingdom of God. You are part of the great cloud of witnesses — not because you’ve earned a seat, but because grace brought you in. Now stand and run. Run with endurance, with purpose. Run like those who believe the Spirit still speaks, still heals, still convicts, still empowers. Run with the horses… (Jeremiah 12:5)

It could be said that too many are watching from the stands while the field is open — waiting for permission, or worse, for someone else to go first.

The call is now, and there is another challenge to letting go and knowing — really knowing deep down in the core of your being — that He is God, and it might ring like an alarm: “Do not quench the Spirit.” (1 Thessalonians 5:19)

This isn’t another bunny trail, and it’s not poetic. It’s urgent. The Spirit is fire — you quench fire by dousing it, ignoring it, suppressing it. The Church may well be gasping for breath not due to lack of programmes, but lack of presence.

Grace does not exempt us from obedience. It empowers it.

The more you see the gospel for what it is — scandalous, glorious, undeserved — the more your heart is moved to respond to step into the rhythm of Spirit-led life, to cherish His presence, honour His voice and not explain away the supernatural because someone misused it once.

We don’t need less of the Spirit. We need more — more fire, more clarity, more conviction, more gifts, more fruit.

But it starts with stillness.

The Defiant Stillness of the Gospel

Bunny trail over and now connecting the dots… This stillness is not withdrawal. It is the posture of trust, the foundation of power, the prerequisite for authority. When Jesus stood in the storm and said, “Peace! Be still!” the waves obeyed because He had first silenced the storm within.

“And he awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, ‘Peace! Be still!’ And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.” — Mark 4:39 (ESV)

You don’t need a new strategy. You need a deeper surrender.

Stillness means acknowledging your limits. Recognising your need. Trusting not in yourself, but in the One who will be exalted among the nations — even if every system, every leader, every platform collapses.

He remains.

So today, drop the weapon. Close the open tabs. Open the Word. Light the fire again.

Be still — not to retreat, but to be revived
Know — not just in your head, but in your bones
That He is God – and live like someone who believes it.

because you do.