When did we start measuring truth by trends, and prophets by their followers? Once upon a bloodstained road, a man without a mic, without a platform, and without a dime turned the world upside down. He had no Twitter, but he had tears. No fame, but fire. No press, but power. That man was Paul—and he needed no pulpit to thunder against Rome’s gods or Jerusalem’s hypocrisy.

But today? A man may have the applause of millions and not one drop of anointing. One may be followed by multitudes and still not know how to follow Christ. “For they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God” (John 12:43). The Church is drunk on visibility and starving for vision.

Oh, we’ve traded Gethsemane’s agony for greenrooms and groupies. The prophets are now polished, their tongues dipped in sugar instead of fire. But let it be known: Heaven has never been impressed with popularity. A.W. Tozer once said, “The devil is a better theologian than any of us and is a devil still.” I say, today’s pulpits are filled with the devil’s echo, wrapped in designer suits, sold at a discount to the undiscerning.

We’ve been so busy looking for the next big voice that we’ve forgotten the still small one (1 Kings 19:12). The voice that spoke in the wilderness still speaks—but not with flashing lights or stage fog. No, it speaks through the tears of the intercessor, the groans of the burdened, and the blood of the forgotten martyr.

“Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you!” (Luke 6:26). God help us, we have more fans than followers of the Lamb. A million clicks mean nothing if Heaven is not moved. The cross was not popular, and neither will be the man who carries it.

So I say: turn off the noise, shut down the circus, and ask yourself—who are you following? If you’re following a man with a million followers but no message from the throne, you’re not walking the narrow way, you’re being entertained on the broad road to ruin.

This generation needs unction, not production. A man with God is a majority, even if the world unfollows him. Let us return to the upper room, not the green room. Let us pray, not parade. Let us seek fire, not fans.

The world is not waiting for another celebrity. It’s groaning for a voice from the wilderness. Will you be that voice—or just another echo?

The church of Jesus Christ was never meant to be a dormitory for the drowsy—it is a barracks for the battle-hardened! Yet behold, our ranks are filled with men who yawn at the sound of war, who murmur at the call to arms, and who prefer pillows over persecution. Brethren, this world is not a playground but a battleground! And while the forces of hell march with unholy zeal, the saints slumber in self-indulgence.

Where is the fire of Pentecost? Did it fade? Did it fail? Nay! But we have failed to wield it! The early church shook cities with the gospel, yet today we struggle to shake ourselves awake for a prayer meeting! The Spirit that turned the world upside down has not grown old. It is not a new Pentecost we need; we need new men who will dare to live in its power!

A Trumpet Call Ignored

God’s call has never been unclear. His voice thunders still: “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” (Isaiah 6:8). Yet too many saints are reclining in comfort while the enemy tramples souls underfoot. We sing of heaven while ignoring the hell at our doorstep. We recite scripture but refuse to wield it as a sword. And we wonder why the devil takes no notice of us!

Was Christ crucified that we might be cozy? Did the apostles die that we might be comfortable? We read of Paul who declared, “I have fought a good fight” (2 Timothy 4:7), yet we hesitate at the smallest cost. We admire martyrs but shrink from their sacrifices. The gospel is not a hobby! It is a holy war, and God seeks soldiers, not spectators!

The Peril of Lukewarm Saints

The world is ablaze with iniquity, and lukewarm believers will never quench it. Hell’s gates will not tremble at a people who cannot even endure a sermon that lasts beyond their comfort. It is written: “The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force” (Matthew 11:12). Where are the men with the violence of prayer? The violence of holiness? The violence of unrelenting passion for souls?

Oh, that God would raise up men who burn! Men whose hearts are too hot for sin, too aflame for compromise, too alive to waste their days in spiritual apathy! A soul on fire needs no entertainment, no coaxing, no earthly applause—he is driven by the Holy Ghost, compelled by eternity, consumed with the glory of God!

Time to Leave the Milk of Infancy

We have lingered too long in spiritual infancy. The church today is rich in sermons but poor in obedience, loud in profession but mute in action. We have read Hebrews, but have we heeded it? “When for the time ye ought to be teachers, ye have need that one teach you again… ye are become such as have need of milk, and not of strong meat” (Hebrews 5:12). The time for milk has passed! We need men who can chew the strong meat of God’s Word and digest the demands of discipleship!

Brethren, the harvest fields await, but we are idle. The power of Pentecost is ready, but we refuse to take hold of it. The hour is late, and eternity presses upon us. The church does not need more programs, more entertainment, more lifeless meetings—it needs men and women possessed by the Holy Ghost!

The trumpet has sounded. Will you rise? Will you fight? Or will you slumber while the battle rages? This world will soon pass, but the souls of men will last forever. Now is the time to burn for Christ!

Better to stand firm upon the rock of unyielding truth, though the congregation be but a remnant, than to build a cathedral upon shifting sands, for the storm of judgment will surely reveal the folly of compromise.

The world’s easy solutions have crept into the Church. “For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine; but after their own lusts shall they heap to themselves teachers, having itching ears” (2 Timothy 4:3). We see it today—cathedrals of popularity rising where truth is watered down, where the full counsel of God is exchanged for half-truths and comforts. But what use is such a cathedral when the storm of judgment comes? Will it stand when the winds of testing blow?

Christ Himself warned of such folly, for He said, “Therefore whosoever heareth these sayings of mine, and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, which built his house upon a rock: And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock” (Matthew 7:24-25). The rock is Christ and His truth—unyielding, uncompromising, absolute. There is no other foundation that will withstand the coming storm.

Yet I hear the voices saying, “But we must adapt, we must soften for the sake of unity!” Unity built upon falsehood is no unity at all. It is the tower of Babel, destined for confusion and ruin. The remnant may be small, despised, rejected by the multitudes, but it stands upon the truth. It may not boast the great numbers or the grand buildings, but it holds fast to that which cannot be shaken.

“Nevertheless the foundation of God standeth sure, having this seal, The Lord knoweth them that are his” (2 Timothy 2:19). Brethren, it is better to stand with a few on the rock of truth than to be swept away with the crowd upon the sands of compromise. Let the storm come! Let the winds blow! If we are upon the rock, we shall not be moved.

In these days of great deception, when the church seeks to please men more than it seeks to please God, remember the words of our Lord: “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). Only truth brings freedom, and only truth brings life. All else is bondage to lies and death.

If you must stand alone, stand! If you are but a remnant, rejoice! For the remnant is precious in the sight of God, and He will uphold you. “Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32). The remnant may be small, but its foundation is sure, and its reward is eternal.

God help us to be that remnant—to stand firm upon the rock, even when the world crumbles around us. Let us not compromise, let us not yield to the pressure of the age. Stand firm, stand true, and when the storm has passed, the remnant will remain, standing upon the unshakable rock of Christ.

Holiness is not some quaint relic of yesteryear, nor a relic we can afford to leave in the past. It is the blazing furnace that consumes the dross of our lives, stripping us of pretense and pride. The world mocks, the lukewarm sneer, but God Almighty has not changed. The God of Sinai—the One who thundered, “Be ye holy; for I am holy” (1 Peter 1:16)—still calls us to ascend His holy mountain. And what awaits us? Fire—holy, purging, relentless fire.

Have we forgotten that without holiness, “no man shall see the Lord” (Hebrews 12:14)? That the path to Him is not strewn with compromise, but with a heart purified by fire? The prophets of old trembled before His presence, yet today we treat Him as common, as though we could carry our sin-stained lives into His courts unscathed. Let us not be deceived! The God who appeared in the bush that burned but was not consumed (Exodus 3:2) still desires to burn away every ounce of impurity in His people.

How long will we toy with sin and call it freedom? How long will we compromise the eternal for the temporal, the holy for the profane? We say we want revival, but there can be no revival without the fire of holiness. It is this fire that will separate the wheat from the chaff, the true from the false. It is this fire that will burn away our half-hearted devotion and cleanse us for His purposes. “Who may abide the day of His coming? And who shall stand when He appeareth? For He is like a refiner’s fire, and like fullers’ soap” (Malachi 3:2).

Oh, how the lukewarm despise the fire! They sit in their pews, content with their rituals, comfortable in their sin, scorning the narrow way of holiness. But mark this well: the God of Sinai has not gone silent. He still calls us to strip off the tattered garments of compromise and ascend to Him. And there, in the blazing fire of His presence, we will be laid bare, refined, and made vessels fit for the Master's use. “For our God is a consuming fire” (Hebrews 12:29).

What, then, shall we do? We must pray, “Burn, O Lord, burn! Burn away our indifference, our apathy, our love for this world. Burn away everything that is not of You. Set our hearts ablaze with holy fire, that we may live solely for Your glory.” For the time is short, and the fire awaits.

Holiness is not an option, it is a mandate. And if we are to meet the God of holiness, we must be willing to be consumed by His refining fire. Let us not shrink back, but rather, as the saints of old, cry out, “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10).

The hour is late. Let us strip off the filthy rags of compromise and allow the fire of His holiness to burn within us. And when it does, we will be transformed, made ready to stand before the God who is Himself a consuming fire.

What are we building, my fellow pilgrims? This world is no friend to grace, yet we go about, often as blind men, raising towers of vanity, brick by brick, feeding our own ambitions. But hear me well: the applause of men is but a momentary whisper, vanishing as quickly as it comes. “For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.” (James 4:14) And so, I ask again, what are we building?

Too many today are content with sandcastles. They build their kingdoms upon the shifting desires of this world—riches, influence, praise from men. But I tell you this: the tides of eternity will sweep those castles away. “Every man’s work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man’s work of what sort it is.” (1 Corinthians 3:13) Only that which is done for Christ will remain. Only what is built upon the Rock, not the sand, will stand.

Let us be wise builders, then! Not laboring for the praise of men or the fleeting pleasures of this world, but for eternity’s sake. Let us invest in eternity’s currency—the souls of men! Hear the cry of Scripture: “What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” (Mark 8:36) And yet, I see multitudes rushing headlong into ruin, content to hold fast to the worthless trinkets of time while the treasures of eternity lie neglected.

The hour is late, my brothers and sisters. The judgment day is coming. What will we present before the throne of God—wood, hay, and stubble, or gold, silver, and precious stones? “The fire shall try every man's work.” (1 Corinthians 3:13) Oh, that we might seek first the kingdom of God, and let all else be added according to His will! (Matthew 6:33)

The weight of eternity’s values rests upon our shoulders. Let us cast off our selfish ambitions and seek the glory of God above all else. The deeds we do here, in the quietness of our souls, will echo in the halls of heaven. And when all is said and done, when this life has passed, may we be found to have built well, having laid our treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal. (Matthew 6:20)

What are we building? I pray it is something that will last when the fire falls.

In this age of glittering distractions, men chase after shadows—fame, filth, fortune. They scroll, surf, click, and swipe, but after the frenzied tapping ends, what remains? An aching hollowness. A gnawing in the soul. “The eyes of man are never satisfied” (Proverbs 27:20). And yet, the world flings its latest circus act before our eyes while eternity slips silently through our fingers. We drink from broken cisterns—pleasure, popularity, prosperity—and still die of thirst. What lunacy! What blindness! What rebellion!

The deepest thirst of the human soul cannot be quenched by the polluted puddles of this dying world. Seek peace in possessions? You’ll find a coffin. Seek joy in fleeting thrills? You’ll find ash in your mouth. The world can anesthetize your thirst, but it cannot satisfy it. Jesus Christ alone can slake the soul’s thirst. He declared it: “But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst” (John 4:14). That’s not a religious slogan—that’s a blood-bought, Spirit-backed promise! And yet we hesitate. Why? Because we would rather sip from Satan’s chalice than be baptized in God’s fire.

You see, the tragedy of our times is not that men are distracted—it's that they are damned, and don't know it. We have substituted revival for rituals, and the presence of God for polished performances. Our churches are full, but our altars are dry. Our services are smooth, but the heavens remain shut. God cries, “Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters” (Isaiah 55:1), but we shrug, yawn, and check the time. Souls are starving, and preachers are entertaining. God help us!

The true meaning of life is not in a verse shared, a prayer repeated, or a Sunday habit. It is in a personal, burning, consuming relationship with the Living God. Not a flicker of devotion, but a furnace. “As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God” (Psalm 42:1). That is the cry of the soul awakened. That is the language of the man who has seen eternity, and who cannot go back to business as usual. Friend, when did you last thirst for God until you wept? When did your soul last ache for holiness?

Everyone is thirsty. The question is: what are you drinking from? The world will tell you to take the edge off with comfort, to numb your ache with amusement. But Christ offers not sedation, but salvation. He calls you out of mediocrity, out of moral fog, out of religious boredom—into Himself. “Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled” (Matthew 5:6). But don’t recite it—live it. Seek until it hurts. Cry until He answers. Stay until He comes.

The sands of time is bleeding out. The Judge is at the door. Don’t waste your life sipping from streams that are running dry while the fountain of living water stands untasted. You will not be satisfied until you are sanctified. You will not be filled until you are emptied. “And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come… And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely” (Revelation 22:17).

Come—but come broken. Come thirsty. Come now. Come until you are filled with holy fire—or don’t come at all.

So, “World Religion Day” they call it? A grand affair to congratulate ourselves on the tolerance of Babel we’ve constructed? A day to pat ourselves on the back for holding hands with pagans and heretics, all the while speaking softly about “understanding” and “unity”? Understanding, is it? I dare say the word reeks of the worst sort of compromise—lukewarm, spineless, and devoid of conviction!

What is there to understand when idols still sit high on thrones erected from the very bones of the Faith? When minarets rise like blasphemous needles against the sky, and incense from strange altars thickens the air, choking the clear and mighty call of the Gospel? Is that what we ought to celebrate? A carnival of creeds, where truth is drowned in a cacophony of falsehood?

“For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus” (1 Timothy 2:5). There is no multiplicity of paths, no divine marketplace offering a variety of salvations. There is Christ, or there is nothing at all.

Nay, my friends, we do not gather to rejoice in this confusion. We weep for it. We weep for the souls led astray by the murky waters of false doctrine, for those who seek peace in the tangled web of conflicting creeds. What this world calls peace is nothing more than the brief lull before the storm, the numbing calm before judgment. We see them parched for truth, yet drinking from poisoned wells. “For my people have committed two evils; they have forsaken me the fountain of living waters, and hewed them out cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water” (Jeremiah 2:13).

This world craves peace, does it not? Yet where do they seek it? In a chaos of creeds, in the noisy confusion of human religions, in the weak-willed pronouncements of those who would trade truth for tolerance. But mark my words, peace is no child of compromise. Peace is the hard-won offspring of surrender—surrender not to men, but to the one, true God.

“Think not that I am come to send peace on earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword” (Matthew 10:34). The peace that Christ offers is not the absence of conflict, but the triumph of truth. It cuts deep, like a sword, dividing light from darkness, right from wrong. And in this divided world, let us not be those who mumble of “understanding” when what we mean is “appeasement.” Let us instead preach the Gospel in all its unvarnished splendor, unafraid of offending those who would rather cling to their idols.

Tolerance, they say. But tolerance for what? For the gangrene that eats at the heart of the Church? For the termites gnawing away at the very foundation of the faith? No! Let us be utterly intolerant—intolerant of lies, intolerant of half-truths, intolerant of anything that stands between a soul and its Savior. “Ye cannot drink the cup of the Lord, and the cup of devils: ye cannot be partakers of the Lord's table, and of the table of devils” (1 Corinthians 10:21).

On this “World Religion Day,” let us not celebrate the lukewarm tolerance of all things, as if every path is equally valid. Let us, instead, raise our voices like trumpets, calling the world not to coexistence with falsehood, but to repentance and redemption. Let us proclaim the one way, the one truth, the one life—the Gospel of Jesus Christ. “Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved” (Acts 4:12).

Let them celebrate their diversity if they must, but let it be known that we, who stand upon the rock of our faith, will not budge. Let them hear the ring of truth in our words, the unyielding certainty of our convictions. Let them see the fire in our eyes—not the fire of anger, but the fire of love for the lost. And above all, let them know that peace can never come from a chorus of contradictions, but only from the harmony of hearts surrendered to Christ.

Go forth, then, not as those who simply tolerate, but as those who declare. For the kingdom of heaven is at hand, and we will not be found among the tepid or the timid. We stand firm, even when all else is shifting sand.

“And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:7). Amen.

What value is a name without the scars of battle in the cause of Christ? What worth is a life lived without a wound in the service of the King of kings? Too many among us are content with a pristine reputation, polished by the soft hands of worldly approval. But I tell you, that which shines in the eyes of men is often dull before the throne of God. “For they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God” (John 12:43).

We were not called to be spectators of a comfortable religion. The Kingdom of God is no place for self-seekers or the faint-hearted. It is a battleground, a place of fiery trial, where only those willing to bear the scars of sacrifice will hear the thunderous roar of the King’s approval. “Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ” (2 Timothy 2:3). The war for souls rages on, and we cannot afford to remain unmarked by the heat of the fight.

Forget your selfish ambitions. Lay aside the hollow applause of this dying world. It is better to be wounded in the battle for souls than to walk untouched in the halls of fleeting comfort. Do not strive to keep your life unblemished by the blows of righteousness. Jesus Himself was not spared, and we are no greater than our Master. “And he that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me” (Matthew 10:38).

Oh, that the Spirit of God would consume our selfish desires! Let His fire burn away our earthly crowns and replace them with a holy passion that cries out, “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21). What is life without the love of Christ beating within us, driving us to the fields of spiritual warfare? We must embrace the fiery transformation of the Holy Ghost until our souls scream with the consuming love of God—a love that presses us to seek the good, not of ourselves, but of His Kingdom!

Let your heart be kindled with divine purpose, for it is only through the scars of battle that we shall one day wear the crown of life. “Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life” (Revelation 2:10). Will you bear the scars? Will you lay down your life for the One who laid His down for you? Seek not the applause of men, but the roar of approval from your King!

Rise, soldier of Christ, and let your name be marked by the wounds of a faithful servant. Only then will you hear the words every soul should long to hear: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:21).

The tragedy of this generation is not that it cannot think, but that it will not think God’s thoughts after Him. We have fenced in our minds with trivialities and shut out the thunder of eternity. The average Christian lives on spiritual breadcrumbs while the banquet of divine revelation goes untouched. “My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge” (Hosea 4:6), not because knowledge is scarce, but because hunger is.

Where are the men whose minds have been scorched by the fire of holy truth? We have more books, more sermons, more noise, and yet less depth, less reverence, less God. We have trained minds but untrained spirits. Oh, for a generation that trembles again at the Word of God! “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Proverbs 9:10), and until we return to that fear, our theology will be a skeleton and our worship a shadow.

We need thinkers who walk with God, who have seen the Invisible and heard the eternal hush. Our minds must not be playgrounds for the world, but battlegrounds for truth. “Set your affection on things above” (Colossians 3:2), not on the glittering rot of this dying age. A mind rooted in eternity cannot be seduced by the passing perfume of time.

Tear down the fences. Rip out the posts of comfort, burn the gates of carnal logic. Let the Word of God batter down every proud wall, until we see as He sees, think as He thinks, and love as He loves. “Be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind” (Romans 12:2), not refurbished, but transformed! God does not want decorated minds, but disciplined ones—minds that have stood in the blast furnace of divine holiness and have come out branded for eternity.

Think, man! But think with a heart burning for heaven. Let your mind stretch until it aches under the weight of God’s glory. This world is dying of shallow thought. Let us be men aflame with eternal vision—minds unfenced, eyes lifted, and hearts bowed.

There is a loneliness, my friends, that ought to be cherished—loneliness with the Almighty. It is a sacred retreat, where the soul is stripped of the world’s noise and distractions, left only in the presence of the Holy One. In that solitude, we commune with God as Abraham did when he stood before the Lord, pleading for the righteous in Sodom (Genesis 18:22-33). It is there that we are molded, chastened, and renewed. “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). Such stillness is not weakness, but strength drawn from the very throne of grace.

Yet how often we flee from that holy loneliness, rushing instead into the company of men, craving their approval, their companionship, their laughter! Beware! The fellowship of the faithless is a breeding ground for spiritual decay. “Be not deceived: evil communications corrupt good manners” (1 Corinthians 15:33). How many souls have traded their holy solitude for the festering poison of worldly camaraderie, drifting further from the voice of God with every passing jest? We find ourselves diluted, our zeal dampened, our fire quenched by the cold waters of compromise.

Elijah knew the price of standing alone with God. He was not among the masses when he called down fire from heaven, but alone upon Mount Carmel, confronting the faithless multitudes and their prophets of Baal (1 Kings 18:21-39). Loneliness with God gave him the courage to stand, though a nation had fallen to apostasy. And shall we, in this present age, fear to stand alone when the crowds clamor for comfort and ease?

The modern Church too often prioritizes fellowship over truth, forgetting that “friendship with the world is enmity with God” (James 4:4). We are called to a higher standard, not to seek the approval of men but the favor of the Almighty. “What concord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believeth with an infidel?” (2 Corinthians 6:15). If the path to holiness means we walk it alone, then let us walk it with the assurance that we are never truly alone. “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee” (Hebrews 13:5).

There is, of course, a fellowship that is life-giving, a gathering of saints who strengthen one another in the faith (Hebrews 10:24-25). But be discerning, beloved. Not every fellowship that bears the name of Christ is rooted in the fear of the Lord. Beware the gatherings where truth is compromised, where the Word is watered down, where men speak much but say little. In such places, spiritual sickness festers, and the soul withers in its pursuit of holiness.

Do not fear the lonely path of truth. It may be narrow and winding, and few may walk it with you. But the company of the Almighty far outweighs the approval of men. “For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” (Matthew 16:26). Better to be alone in the desert with God than in a palace of lies with a multitude.

So, seek the solitude where God speaks, where your heart may be still and your soul set aflame once more. And when you return to the fellowship of men, let it be with a fire that cannot be quenched, a light that cannot be dimmed, and a resolve to stand, even if you must stand alone.

The world is starving, not for bread alone, but for righteousness—for a goodness that reflects the very heart of God. Yet, too many within the Church sit idly by, spectators in a dying world, as though the mere knowledge of the gospel were sufficient. Oh, how it grieves the Spirit of God! “To him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin” (James 4:17). We were not called to warm the pews or applaud from the sidelines while a few labor in the fields. Christ Himself did not observe; He acted. His hands healed, His words cut like a sword, and His feet carried Him to the despised and the broken.

Mediocrity has become a silent killer in the Church today. Too many have settled for a comfortable Christianity, content with doing the bare minimum—hoping to slip quietly into heaven. But I tell you this: mediocrity will not stand in the day of reckoning! “So then every one of us shall give account of himself to God” (Romans 14:12). What will you say in that hour? That you lived safely, did nothing to disturb the peace of the world, and left no mark for the Kingdom of Heaven?

God is not looking for spectators; He is seeking disruptors—those who will trouble the status quo of darkness with the brilliance of His light. He is searching for men and women of holy courage, those who will “cry aloud, spare not, lift up thy voice like a trumpet” (Isaiah 58:1), and refuse to let this world sink into greater depravity without a fight.

The great day of the Lord is fast approaching, and when it comes, the books will be opened. Will your name be recorded among those who took a stand, who fought for righteousness, who refused to let mediocrity define their days? Or will it be said that you watched, while others bled and prayed and sacrificed?

The gospel calls us to more than passive existence. We are called to make war with sin, to be the salt that stings and the light that blinds. “The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light” (Romans 13:12).

I urge you, brethren, awaken from your slumber! The world is starving for the goodness of God, and you carry within you the bread of life. Do not withhold it. Do not waste the days given to you on this earth, for they are few and fleeting. Let us, like our Savior, leave an indelible mark for the glory of God.

The breath of life—what a sacred gift it is, given by the hand of Almighty God! Yet how often do we treat it with careless indifference, as though tomorrow were promised to us. “For what is your life?” asks James, “It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away” (James 4:14). Indeed, the days are short, and the call to action is urgent.

Too many of us waste this precious gift in idle contemplation, mistaking thought for duty. But mere thinking, even if it be upon noble things, means little if it does not stir us to act. The Word of God calls for a fervent life. “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might” (Ecclesiastes 9:10), for time will soon slip from our grasp. Contemplation without action is the mark of a life that leaves little behind.

When we stand before the Judgment Seat of Christ, we will not be asked how well we thought about His commands, but how well we obeyed them. Christ’s call was not to the dreamers but to the doers. “Be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves” (James 1:22). This is the dividing line—the test of true discipleship.

Will we be found among those who took their God-given breath and labored for His Kingdom? Or will we be among those who squandered it in the comfort of their own minds, content with good intentions but barren of good deeds? The Apostle Paul warned us, “The night is far spent, the day is at hand” (Romans 13:12). Time is slipping away, and every moment of delay is a moment lost to eternity.

The breath of life demands a response—fervor, not passivity; action, not idle thought. Let us rise, while we still have breath, to do the will of Him who gave it. For when our last breath comes, let it be said of us, “They labored for the things that last, not for the things that fade.” “Redeeming the time, because the days are evil” (Ephesians 5:16).

In a world that exalts mediocrity and applauds lukewarm living, it is all too easy to surround oneself with the faint-hearted, those whose spirits neither soar nor stumble but remain tepid—neither hot nor cold. Yet, if you would rise above the crowd, if you would live for the things that matter in eternity, you must forsake the comfort of weak companions and seek the fellowship of those who burn with holy fire.

Scripture declares, “Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend” (Proverbs 27:17). Do you know what that means? It means the dull cannot make you sharp! The weak cannot make you strong! If you would be a warrior for Christ, then stand with warriors—not with the soft-spoken crowd who choose comfort over conviction.

Look around you, friend. Who walks beside you in this pilgrimage? Is it the timid soul who shies away from the cross, or is it the bold saint whose very life is a testimony of sacrifice and burning zeal? “Can two walk together, except they be agreed?” (Amos 3:3). The answer is no! If you would walk the narrow way, you must link arms with those who hunger and thirst after righteousness, not with those who merely dabble in faith on Sundays.

Our Lord Himself was clear: “He that taketh not his cross, and followeth after me, is not worthy of me” (Matthew 10:38). The road to the cross is not paved with the smooth stones of earthly ease. It is a path of hardship, a journey meant for those who are willing to forsake all. If your companions are content to live at ease in Zion, then you will never feel the weight of the cross or the fire of revival burning in your soul.

It is time to take stock. Do you walk with the mighty or with the mundane? If your spirit has grown dull, perhaps it is because you have surrounded yourself with the lukewarm, those who shrink back from the full call of God. But I tell you, it is better to stand alone in the furnace of affliction, with the Son of God by your side, than to walk in the shadow of mediocrity with the multitudes. “Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1).

The question remains: Who are your companions? Will you choose the warriors, whose hearts blaze with the zeal of Christ? Or will you linger in the company of the faint-hearted, content with a form of godliness that denies its power?

The time is short. Choose well. Choose now. “The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light” (Romans 13:12).

We live in a time where grace is often misunderstood. It is preached as a balm to soothe every wound, but I fear we’ve turned it into an excuse to sin with impunity. Make no mistake—God's grace is wondrous, undeserved, and boundless. But let us not forget that it is not a license to mock His holiness.

The preacher in Ecclesiastes declared with piercing clarity: “Because sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil” (Ecclesiastes 8:11). How true this rings today! God's patience is mistaken for approval, and His long-suffering for indulgence. We see men sin with boldness, as though the fires of judgment have cooled, as though God has forgotten His own Word.

But let us be clear: God's patience is not an endorsement of our iniquity. It is mercy—an open door for repentance, not an invitation to persist in rebellion. “The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9). Yet how long will we test His patience? Do we imagine His grace is infinite, that judgment has been postponed indefinitely? This is the great deception of our age.

Judgment is not a distant threat, something we may ignore as we wallow in our sin. It is as sure as the rising of the sun. “Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap” (Galatians 6:7). The day of reckoning draws near, and no man knows the hour. His patience, though long, has its limits.

Now is the time to turn, not tomorrow. Tomorrow may never come. The cry of the Spirit is clear: “Seek ye the LORD while he may be found, call ye upon him while he is near” (Isaiah 55:6). God’s grace, wondrous as it is, does not exempt us from His holiness. The same God who extends mercy is the same God who will bring justice to this earth.

Let us not spurn His grace by continuing in sin. Let us not trample the blood of Christ underfoot. Time is short, and eternity is long. Repentance is not a suggestion; it is a divine command. Will we heed it, or will we face the full wrath of a holy God?

The door of mercy is open, but it will not remain so forever. Let us flee from the wrath to come. Let us turn with all our hearts while there is yet time. God has spoken, and His Word is clear: “Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts: and let him return unto the LORD, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon” (Isaiah 55:7).

Turn now, for the hour is late, and His patience, though great, is not without end.