How far have we drifted from the sacredness of approaching the Lord’s table? Oh, that we would return to the days when broken hearts, not empty rituals, brought us to that holy place! It is a tragedy that many come out of mere formality—because others have come, or worse, because they are expected to do so. Have we forgotten that this table is not a social gathering, but an encounter with the bleeding Savior, who “bare our sins in His own body on the tree” (1 Peter 2:24)?

The Lord’s Supper is not a tradition to be trifled with. It is not a mere habit or a mark of religious correctness. It is a remembrance of Calvary, where the Lamb of God was crushed beneath the weight of the world’s sin—my sin, your sin! How dare we approach this sacred moment with anything less than trembling awe! “Examine yourselves,” the Apostle Paul exhorts, “whether ye be in the faith; prove your own selves” (2 Corinthians 13:5).

What madness it is to come to His table casually, without repentance, without deep reverence! We are but contrite sinners coming to a bleeding Savior. Do we not understand that the Son of God “was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities” (Isaiah 53:5)? When we partake of the bread and the cup, we declare His death until He comes again. But do we not realize that such a declaration demands the utmost sincerity, the utmost brokenness before God?

If you come to His table merely because it is expected, or because you think it right, without a heart pierced by the gravity of His sacrifice, then you come unworthily. And Paul warns, “He that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself, not discerning the Lord’s body” (1 Corinthians 11:29). Oh, that we would fall to our knees in repentance before we dare approach this holy ordinance again!

Beloved, let us strip away every formality, every false pretense. Let us come not because of others’ expectations, but because our hearts are broken over our sin. Let us come not because we think it is simply the right thing to do, but because we are desperate for the cleansing power of the blood of Christ. Oh, how sweet it is to approach His table as a penitent sinner, trembling before the wounded Savior, knowing that His blood alone can make us whole.

This table is a place of death and life, of judgment and mercy. Come not lightly, but come with a heart that has been shattered by the cross. Only then can you truly taste the sweetness of His grace, and only then can you declare with all the saints, “Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 15:57).

Beloved, how often we forget that the Lord’s eyes are never dim, His gaze never distracted. “The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good” (Proverbs 15:3). There is not a moment, a step, or a breath that escapes His perfect knowledge. He sees all—the grand and the small, the victories and the struggles, the seen and the unseen. And what unspeakable comfort that brings to the one who loves Him!

Jesus knows the path you tread even now, and He knows where you will stand tomorrow, ten years from now, and at the end of your days. “Known unto God are all his works from the beginning of the world” (Acts 15:18). Not only does He see the road ahead, but He ordains your every step. There is no accidental meeting, no unplanned visitor. Whether you venture out into the world or sit quietly at home, His purposes unfold with divine precision. For the one who walks in His will, even the unexpected is part of a larger plan.

“We know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28). Ah, the marvel of it! It is not that all things are good, but that the Lord, in His sovereign love, weaves every thread—every joy, every sorrow, every trial—into a tapestry that serves our ultimate good. What we cannot see, He has already accounted for. What confounds us, He understands completely. His knowledge is not a cold, detached omniscience, but a deeply involved, compassionate foreknowing.

Yet, let us not mistake this knowledge for mere divine oversight! He does not only observe—He orchestrates. The hands of our Lord are as active as His eyes. “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end” (Jeremiah 29:11). His will, beloved, is to bring you safely to that “expected end,” where all will be made clear, and every trial will seem but a momentary affliction compared to the glory that awaits (2 Corinthians 4:17).

So, dear soul, cast off your anxieties. Do not fret over tomorrow’s uncertainties, for they are certain to the One who holds them. Do not fear the unexpected, for it is expected by Him who has written the story of your life. Rest in the truth that the Shepherd of your soul knows your way, and every step you take is within the bounds of His all-knowing care. The One who has called you will keep you, and His eyes will never look away.

Oh, how glorious it is to be free! Not merely free from chains of iron, but free from the deadliest shackles of all—sin, death, and the burden of a guilty conscience. For too long, many of us were slaves to sin, “sold under sin” (Romans 7:14), walking in darkness, bound by the cords of our own rebellion. But praise be to God, who has delivered us by the precious blood of His Son! “If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed” (John 8:36).

To be truly free is to stand as a redeemed child before a holy God, no longer trembling in fear or shame, but walking boldly into His presence. Once, sin separated us—our very conscience condemned us, whispering, “There is no hope for you here.” Yet, by the wondrous grace of our Lord, our consciences have been washed clean by His blood. “How much more shall the blood of Christ… purge your conscience from dead works to serve the living God?” (Hebrews 9:14). Oh, what joy it is to live with a heart unburdened by guilt, to know that we are forgiven, loved, and accepted!

But more than this, we are not just forgiven criminals—we are adopted children, heirs of God Himself! “For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again to fear; but ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father” (Romans 8:15). The Lord, who once was distant to us in our sin, now bids us come close, not as strangers, but as His beloved children. Think of it! We who were once enemies have now been made sons and daughters of the Most High, welcomed into His presence with open arms. What freedom is this!

Oh, dear reader, if you know not this freedom, I urge you, come to the cross. Lay down your chains, your guilt, your sin. For in Christ, there is freedom, not just in the life to come, but here and now—freedom from the weight of sin, freedom from the crushing condemnation of the law, and freedom to call upon God as your Father. The world may offer its false freedoms, but only in Christ will you find the liberty of the soul.

And to those who know this freedom already—are you walking in it? Or have you let the enemy sneak back in to lay chains of fear and doubt upon your soul once more? Stand firm, “Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage” (Galatians 5:1). The freedom you have is precious; do not squander it. Live in the fullness of it, with a heart unchained and a soul alive to God.

This, dear saint, is the liberty of the redeemed. May we walk in it all the days of our lives, until the day we enter His glorious presence forever, free at last, where no chain can ever touch us again.

There is a day coming—swift and sure—a day unlike any that has ever been or shall ever be. Men may marvel at its splendor, for the heavens themselves will pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat (2 Peter 3:10). But let us not be deceived, for it is not the outward glory of that day that will mark its true importance. No, the weight of eternity will rest upon the verdicts delivered.

On that day, Christ will separate the sheep from the goats (Matthew 25:32). The saints, clothed in the righteousness of their Savior, will hear those glorious words: “Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world” (Matthew 25:34). Oh, what a moment that shall be! All of heaven shall resound with joy, for the redeemed will enter into the fullness of His presence, the very light of His countenance shining upon them for all eternity. This is the day that marks their final victory, their everlasting joy.

But to the lost—oh, the lost!—it shall be a day of unimaginable dread. There will be no escape, no place to hide from the eyes of the Judge, whose voice will ring out: “Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels” (Matthew 25:41). In that moment, all hope will vanish. The lost will begin their eternal separation from the God they rejected—the God who alone is the source of all happiness. How great their torment will be, not only in their suffering but in the memory of what they could have had! Forever they will look back to that day, the day they were cast into outer darkness (Matthew 22:13).

Eternity will bear the weight of that day, for its consequences will stretch unbroken through the ages. The saints will look back to it with gratitude and adoration, forever praising the Lamb who purchased their redemption. The lost will remember it with anguish, for it will mark the moment their fate was sealed, their rebellion fully repaid.

Oh, my friends, do not take lightly the coming of this day. The clock is ticking, and the hour is nearer than you think. “Now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation” (2 Corinthians 6:2). While there is yet breath in your lungs, turn to Christ, for on that final day, no man will stand on his own merits. Only those washed in the blood of the Lamb will find refuge. Where will you stand when the verdict is pronounced?

Let us live with eternity in view, for that day shall soon be upon us. Will it be a day of unspeakable joy or a day of everlasting regret? Choose this day whom you will serve (Joshua 24:15), for the choice made today will echo through the corridors of eternity.

May the weight of this reality stir our souls to urgent action, and may we walk as those who are ever mindful of the day that is coming—the day of final reckoning.

There was once a man, a simple working soul, who rose earlier on Sunday than any other day. His wife, puzzled by this devotion, asked him why. His reply was simple, yet profound: “I like the day I give to my Savior to be the longest in the week.”

Ah, if only the Church would awaken to such love! Too many treat the Lord’s Day as an afterthought, a mere inconvenience between Saturday’s pleasures and Monday’s demands. But to the soul aflame with Christ, Sunday is not a burden—it is a foretaste of eternity. As David declared, “I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord” (Psalm 122:1). What joy there is in setting aside our earthly cares to bask in the presence of the Almighty!

We must reclaim the sacredness of this day. For those who hunger after righteousness, each Sunday is not just a duty but a step nearer to our eternal Home. When the sun rises on the Lord’s Day, it should find us ready—our hearts eager to offer the best of our time, our thoughts, and our worship to the One who gave His all for us. Let us not say, “When will this be over?” but rather, “How can I make this day the longest, the richest, the most God-honoring of them all?”

For it is not enough to rest the body while the soul slumbers. The Lord’s Day is a time to awaken, to remember that “here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come” (Hebrews 13:14). Every Sunday should be a ladder, lifting our souls higher, drawing us nearer to the One who is our eternal Rest. If we neglect this gift, we risk losing sight of the Heaven that awaits us.

Let us therefore rise early—not merely from slumber but from the lethargy of our hearts. Let Sunday be a day of renewal, of devotion, a day where we truly taste what it means to live for eternity. For as the Scripture reminds us, “This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it” (Psalm 118:24).

If the man of the world can labor diligently for his wages, how much more should the servant of Christ rise eagerly for the reward that does not fade? Let us make the Lord’s Day the longest day of the week—not by mere hours, but by the depth of our worship and the height of our devotion. For each step on this sacred day is a step toward Heaven, and one day, the gates of eternity will open before us. May we be found ready, our hearts full of joy, our hands full of service, and our eyes fixed on the Savior who awaits us.

The Lord’s Day is not an inconvenience—it is our greatest privilege. Let us treat it as such, and each Sunday shall be a stair that brings us nearer to our everlasting Home.

When I hear of those who have turned back from following the Lord, I cannot help but tremble for their souls. The words of Christ to His disciples ring in my ears, “Will ye also go away?” (John 6:67). Those who once walked with Him, who for a season loved Him, now drift like withered leaves before a bitter wind. Their feet have grown weary, and their love, once aflame, has turned cold. Oh, how they will curse the day they were born!

The tragedy of apostasy is not simply a forsaking of a creed, but the abandonment of a living Savior. The cross, once a source of wonder, is now scorned by those who have traded the eternal for the fleeting. They have forgotten the words of Christ: “No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:62). Those who once knew Him, tasted His goodness, and walked in the light, now walk in the shadow of their own betrayal. Do they not know the dreadful words of Scripture, “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God” (Hebrews 10:31)?

These are not simply stories of distant souls, lost to the annals of history. No, I know some by name—men and women who once professed a love for Christ. Their hearts once beat with passion for Him, but now they are as stones. They have turned their back on the One who shed His blood for them. How can we not grieve for them, for it would have been better for them “not to have known the way of righteousness, than, after they have known it, to turn from the holy commandment” (2 Peter 2:21)?

And what of us? Will we stand firm, or will our love, too, grow cold? “Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall” (1 Corinthians 10:12). We are not immune to the lures of this world, to the subtle whispers of compromise. If we lose sight of eternity, if we let go of the cross, we too may find ourselves walking the path of apostasy.

Oh, Church, awaken! Let us not grow weary in well-doing, for the hour is late, and the night is at hand. “Hold fast the profession of our faith without wavering” (Hebrews 10:23). May our love for Christ be rekindled daily, and may we endure to the end, for only then shall we be saved (Matthew 24:13). And for those who are growing cold, pray—pray that God in His mercy might yet bring them to repentance, before the day of grace gives way to the day of judgment.

We live in an age where men are celebrated not for who they are, but for what they appear to be. How easy it is to admire those who seem to labor for God but whose motives are as hollow as a painted tomb! It is a grievous thing to see the Church infiltrated by those who seek not the glory of God, but the applause of men. The Scripture warns us of such peril: “Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 6:1).

Imitation is a natural tendency—“Be ye followers of me, even as I also am of Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1)—but let us be cautious whom we follow. For some, though their works seem righteous, are inwardly corrupt. We are often deceived by the shine of their deeds, yet beneath the surface lies a heart that craves human praise. Oh, that God would spare us from such men!

Christ Himself spoke with severity about the Pharisees who performed all their works to be seen by others. “They love the uppermost rooms at feasts, and the chief seats in the synagogues, and greetings in the markets” (Luke 11:43). Such men are the bane of the Church, for they pull others down into their shallow religion, a religion that pleases only the flesh. God sees their hearts, though—“The LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).

What a tragedy it is to waste one’s life striving to impress those who cannot give eternal reward! These hollow men, puffed up with self-importance, are building their castles in the sand. They may fool men, but they will not fool God, who will judge the secret thoughts of the heart on that Great Day. How foolish to labor for the applause of men who themselves will soon pass into dust! “For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” (Matthew 16:26).

Let us pray for discernment, that we would not be swept up in the tide of worldly admiration for those whose motives are impure. Instead, let us be men and women of the cross, whose only concern is the glory of God. Let us live before the audience of One. For on that Day, it will not matter how many praised us—only whether we were faithful to the One who called us.

“But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth: That thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret himself shall reward thee openly” (Matthew 6:3-4). May we be those whose motives are pure, whose works are genuine, and whose hearts beat for the pleasure of God alone.

There are those, God help us, who have chosen ignorance, not by accident but by preference. They would rather remain in the shadows, where light does not intrude upon their comfort, nor truth disturb their peace. As our Lord declared, “And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.” (John 3:19)

You see, it’s not a lack of evidence that keeps them in the dark—it’s a love for the shadows. They turn their eyes from the truth, knowing full well what the light would expose. They have heard the truth preached, seen it lived out, and still they cling to their darkness. “For the heart of this people is waxed gross, and their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes have they closed; lest they should see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them.” (Acts 28:27)

But hear me when I say this: a day will come when their ignorance will not save them. Oh, they will understand, but it will be too late. The veil of deception will be torn from their eyes in the stark, blinding light of eternity. They will stand, trembling, before the Almighty Judge, and in that terrible moment, all the excuses, all the comfortable lies, will be stripped away. “For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad.” (2 Corinthians 5:10)

What a tragedy, that men can be so near to the truth, yet so far from salvation! They have had their chances, time after time, to step into the light, but they have refused. And now, the door is shut. “When once the master of the house is risen up, and hath shut to the door, and ye begin to stand without, and to knock at the door, saying, Lord, Lord, open unto us; and he shall answer and say unto you, I know you not whence ye are.” (Luke 13:25)

I plead with you, dear soul, do not let this be your story. Do not content yourself with half-truths or the comforts of ignorance. The truth is a hard thing, yes, but it is also life-giving. “And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” (John 8:32) Turn to it now, while there is still time, for the light that you avoid today will be the very light that exposes you tomorrow.

There is no repentance in the grave. Seek the Lord while He may be found.

On this day, called “Make A Difference Day” by the world, one can't help but ponder: what of the other 364 days? Each dawn should find us driven to make a difference, not just today, but every day. Let us carry the torch of impact, for God's blessing follows those who seek to change the world, day by day.

No sin hardens the heart more thoroughly than pride. Of all the vices that plague humanity, none seals the soul in blindness like this silent, deadly sin. Open sins—those that drag men into the public eye, shaming them before their peers—have at least one redeeming quality: they can drive a man to his knees. The adulterer, the thief, the drunkard—all may one day see their shame and cry, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” (Luke 18:13). But pride? Ah, pride will not bow.

The Scriptures warn us plainly: “Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall” (Proverbs 16:18). It was pride that cast Lucifer from heaven, pride that drove men to build the Tower of Babel, and pride that whispers still, telling men they need not God, for they are sufficient in themselves. It is this self-sufficiency, this brazen resistance to humility, that turns men into stone.

Open sin may humble a man, but pride does the opposite. It hardens him, layer upon layer, until even the Spirit’s knock upon the door of the heart goes unheard. What does the proud man say? “I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need of nothing” (Revelation 3:17). He does not see his wretchedness, his spiritual poverty, his desperate need for grace. The proud heart is a fortress, walled in by delusion, defended by self-righteousness.

God resists the proud (James 4:6). Do we grasp the gravity of that? To be resisted by God Himself—there is no greater peril! The man who refuses to humble himself under the mighty hand of God stands in opposition to the Lord of all creation. What hope can there be for such a one? None, unless he breaks—unless the weight of his own pride becomes unbearable, and he falls, shattered, before the throne of grace.

Brethren, let us tremble at the thought of pride creeping into our hearts. If God be against us, who can be for us? If pride be found in our souls, even the smallest seed, let us root it out! For God’s promise is this: “Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He shall lift you up” (James 4:10). It is the humble heart that finds grace; it is the broken spirit that God will not despise (Psalm 51:17).

But woe unto the man who clings to his pride! He will find his soul calcified, his prayers unanswered, and his heart distant from God. Let us lay our pride upon the altar, lest it lay us upon the judgment seat of a holy God.

Seek humility, beloved. Pride is the great destroyer, but humility is the path to life, for “the meek shall inherit the earth” (Matthew 5:5). Let us take up the cross and die daily to ourselves, for in death to pride, we find life eternal.

Jesus did not come into this world for His own ease, nor for some fleeting sense of happiness. No, He came as a blazing light in the midst of a world engulfed in darkness—our darkness. He had seen us lying in the pit, “having no hope, and without God in the world” (Ephesians 2:12). It was not indifference that moved Him, but divine mercy. How unfathomable that the Son of God, in perfect glory, would stoop so low to rescue us from our miserable estate!

He had every right to leave us where we were—blind, stumbling, hopeless. But “God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). What infinite love indeed, that He should put on our frail flesh and enter the chaos of this fallen world! He took upon Himself our darkness, not merely to shed a little light, but to drive it out entirely. “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life” (John 8:12).

The tragedy, however, is that many still choose to remain in darkness, rejecting the very light that came to save them. “And this is the condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil” (John 3:19). How staggering, how sorrowful, that Christ’s light should be refused by the very ones He came to save!

Do not be mistaken—Christ’s light is not soft and warm, merely to comfort. It is piercing, revealing, and it exposes all. This is why the world hates it. But to those who love the truth, His light is life. It brings us out of the prison of our own making and leads us into the liberty of His kingdom. “For ye were sometimes darkness, but now are ye light in the Lord: walk as children of light” (Ephesians 5:8).

Let us not take His mercy for granted! The cost of that light was His own life, and the gift of it is nothing less than eternal life. We must no longer dwell in the shadows, for He has called us into His marvelous light (1 Peter 2:9). Let us rise from the ashes of our sin and walk in that light, following the One who loved us beyond measure, who shattered the darkness with the brilliance of His cross.

Time is short, and the night is far spent. If you have yet to come into His light, come now, before it is too late. For “the night cometh, when no man can work” (John 9:4). The light is still shining—how will you respond?

What a tragic figure the rich young ruler makes, walking away from Christ because his wealth held him captive. It is written, “But when the young man heard that saying, he went away sorrowful: for he had great possessions” (Matthew 19:22). And so, what was his crime? Not theft, not violence—but that subtle, dangerous idol: the love of riches.

He is not alone in this tragic path. How many, like him, cling to their treasure, their status, their comforts, refusing to pay the cost of discipleship? Christ's call rings clear, “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me” (Luke 9:23). Yet, many shrink back, for they fear the cost—be it wealth, be it reputation, be it comfort. “Nevertheless among the chief rulers also many believed on him; but because of the Pharisees they did not confess him, lest they should be put out of the synagogue: for they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God” (John 12:42-43). What a damning trade—eternal honor with God, exchanged for a fleeting word of approval from men.

What various reasons men have for not obeying God! Some are too busy; others are too wealthy. Some fear the opinions of men, while others fear the consequences of surrender. Yet not a single one of these excuses will stand on the day of judgment! “For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ; that every one may receive the things done in his body, according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad” (2 Corinthians 5:10). There, all flimsy justifications will burn away, and the truth will stand bare before the Almighty: they refused Him. They did not lack understanding; they lacked willingness.

Consider this, friend: The cost of following Christ is great, but the cost of turning away is far greater. The rich young ruler walked away with his wealth—but without eternal life. What about you? What holds you back? Whether it be riches or reputation, remember this: God will not accept second place in your life. “Ye cannot serve God and mammon” (Matthew 6:24).

Lay aside your excuses. Lay down your treasures. Obedience to Christ is not a suggestion—it is a command. And in the end, it is the only thing that will matter. “For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?” (Matthew 16:26).

Rise, then, from the ashes of indecision! The time is short. Seek the Lord while He may be found, and take hold of eternal life before it is too late.

Oh, the cross! That cursed, despised emblem of suffering and shame. To the world, it is a thing to be scorned, an instrument of defeat. Yet, to those who know its mystery, it is the symbol of the greatest victory ever wrought. No king’s sword, no emperor’s decree, no conqueror’s banner has ever done what the cross has done. For on that wooden beam, where man saw defeat, God saw triumph. “Having spoiled principalities and powers, He made a shew of them openly, triumphing over them in it” (Colossians 2:15).

It was there, at Calvary, that Christ faced the prince of this world and crushed him. Satan, who for so long had held dominion over the hearts of men, was vanquished by a deed of love so powerful, so pure, that all the armies of darkness could not stand against it. Oh, what a battle it was! But the weapons of this warfare were not carnal—they were divine. It was not by the force of arms, but by the shedding of innocent blood that the victory was won. And how mighty a victory! “And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me” (John 12:32).

Blessed be God that our Lord did not shrink back from that terrible conflict! In the Garden of Gethsemane, His soul was sorrowful unto death, yet He pressed on. “Father, if Thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but Thine, be done” (Luke 22:42). It was for this very hour He had come, and He knew that in overcoming Satan, His Father’s name would be glorified. And indeed, it was, it is, and it shall ever be! For every soul that is snatched from the jaws of hell, every sinner who turns from darkness to light, stands as a living testament to the power of that cross.

Let us never forget the price of our salvation. Let us never treat lightly the blood that was shed, for it was by that blood alone that we were delivered. The cross has done what no conqueror’s sword ever could—it has given life, and life more abundantly. “But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Galatians 6:14).

So, dear brethren, let us live in the shadow of the cross, ever mindful of its power, and ever thankful for its triumph. For there is no other foundation, no other hope. Christ has conquered, Satan is defeated, and we, by faith, share in His victory. Hallelujah!

“And when He was come into Jerusalem, all the city was moved, saying, Who is this? And Jesus went into the temple of God, and cast out all them that sold and bought in the temple, and overthrew the tables of the moneychangers, and the seats of them that sold doves, And said unto them, It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves.” (Matthew 21:10-13)

What a tragic sight it must have been when Jesus entered the temple! There stood the sacred house of God—shining in earthly splendor, admired by the crowds, bustling with activity. It had all the markings of reverence, all the outward trappings of devotion. And yet, when the Son of God looked upon it, what did He see? Not a house of prayer, but a den of thieves.

How dreadful that the very place meant for communion with the Almighty had become a marketplace for the greedy! The form was there, but the fire—the purity of worship—was nowhere to be found. And so He, the one with the eyes of flame, overthrew their tables and drove them out. It was not enough for it to look holy. It must be holy.

I fear that many churches today are no different from that temple. The building may shine with grandeur, the services may run like clockwork, and the crowds may gather faithfully. But what of the heart of it? Is it not written, “Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof”? (2 Timothy 3:5). Oh, how often we have the appearance, but not the substance. We say the right things, sing the right hymns, but if the Spirit of God were to walk in our midst, would He find us holy—or hollow?

Let us not fool ourselves, brethren. God is not impressed with our rituals, nor with our routines. What He seeks is a people who worship in “spirit and in truth” (John 4:24), a people who live in His presence with clean hands and pure hearts. “Be ye holy; for I am holy,” says the Lord (1 Peter 1:16). If we lack the fire of holiness, then all we offer is an empty form, and heaven will have none of it.

The temple was not desecrated by idols, but by men whose hearts were far from God. And so, too, the church today can be free from false doctrine, yet still be a den of thieves—stealing the glory that belongs to God alone and trading it for the applause of men. It is a fearful thing to have the form of worship without the power of His presence. God save us from such hypocrisy!

The cry of my heart is this: Let us cleanse the temple of our hearts. Cast out every sin that defiles, every pride that exalts itself, every distraction that steals our gaze from the face of God. Let us not be content with the appearance of godliness while the fire of holiness has long since grown cold. For it is not enough that we go through the motions of religion. We must burn with the passion of those who walk with God.

O that we would be stirred as the city of Jerusalem was stirred at His coming! That our hearts would cry, “Who is this?” and fall at His feet, not merely admiring the form but seeking the fullness of His glory.

“Let judgment begin at the house of God” (1 Peter 4:17). Let us not delay, for the Lord will come again. And when He does, will He find faith? Will He find a house of prayer—or will He find a den of thieves?

Let us forsake the form without the fire, for the fire is what we need! Amen.