Category Tail Feathers

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The Vineyard and the White Whale: A Parable for an Unsettled Age

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

There was a kingdom by the sea where a modest vineyard grew on a quiet rise. It wasn’t impressive, yet it endured every storm. It bore fruit in seasons when other fields failed. It stood as a quiet contradiction to the loud voices of the age.

One man in the kingdom could not bear the sight of it. He was a man of influence, accustomed to shaping the mood of the crowd. But the vineyard unsettled him. It contradicted the story he told about the world. It bore fruit he insisted could not exist. And so, the vineyard became, in his mind, an offense.

He convinced himself that if he could just uproot it, the unease inside him would finally be quiet.

But the vineyard was not his.

And that truth gnawed at him.

He brooded. He rehearsed grievances until they hardened into certainty. Soon the vineyard was no longer a patch of land — it was a symbol of everything he despised. He rallied others to hate it with him. He painted it as a threat to the kingdom’s stability. He insisted that the realm could not stand while that vineyard stood.

Elijah had once confronted a king just like this — a man who wanted what was not his, a man who mistook desire for destiny. The prophet warned him that coveting another man’s inheritance would cost him more than he imagined. But the warning was forgotten, and the pattern repeated.

Across the sea, another man sailed with a similar fire in his bones. Melville would later author his story — a captain who let a single wound become his compass. A white whale had crossed his path, and instead of healing, he fed his injury until it became an obsession. Every sunrise was measured by how close he was to the creature he hated. Every decision bent toward the chase.

Both men believed the same lie:

“If I can destroy the thing that troubles me, the world will finally be set right.”

But the vineyard did not trouble the king. And the whale did not trouble the captain. Their own hearts did.

And while they raged, the world around them trembled.

Borders shifted. Nations armed. Old powers stirred. New powers rose. The tides of history moved like deep waters beneath a sleeping ship.

But neither man noticed. Their eyes were fixed on a single point, and everything outside that point faded into shadow.

The Moral of the Story

And in the days that followed, the kingdom learned what neither Ahab ever could.

When hatred becomes the single bead on the string, it swallows every other color. It dulls the eyes until beauty looks threatening. It numbs the ears until wisdom sounds like deceit. It twists the mind until truth feels dangerous and lies feel safe. It blinds people to what is good, and it blinds them even more to what is right.

The king had sworn the vineyard was poison. The captain had sworn the whale was evil. But the poison was in their own vision, and the evil was in the obsession that hollowed them out.

“The light of the body is the eye,” the Scripture says, “and if the eye is evil, the whole body is full of darkness.” (Matthew 6:22–23)

Their eyes had turned evil — not with violence, but with fixation. And the darkness that followed was of their own making.

The vineyard is still growing. The whale still swam. Nothing the obsessed man did altered either one. His hatred had no power over the thing he despised, so it turned inward and fed him instead.

And any obsession fastened to an unreachable prize will end the same way — consuming the one who clings to it while the prize itself remains untouched.

The prophets had warned of this long before:

“They have eyes, but they see not; ears, but they hear not.” (Psalm 115:5–6)

A blindness chosen, not imposed.

And while the obsessed narrowed their sight to a single target, the world around them shifted. Borders trembled. Nations armed. Old powers stirred. New powers rose. The tides of history moved like deep waters beneath a sleeping ship.

But the obsessed did not see it. They could not. Their hatred had become their compass, and it pointed nowhere but inward.

So, the kingdom learned a hard truth:

A nation fixated on destroying one figure loses the ability to discern the forces shaping its destiny. A people who let hatred guide them will walk straight into the dangers they refuse to see. Obsession does not merely distort reason — it devours it. And when reason is gone, the world can burn unnoticed.

As it is written:

“Be sober, be vigilant; for your adversary the devil walks about as a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.” (1 Peter 5:8)

The lion did not devour them through the vineyard. Nor through the whale. He devoured them through the obsession they chose.

TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS: The Furnace That Forms the Faithful

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

Believers experience seasons in life when the heat rises. The pressure tightens during these times. The path ahead seems to glow with the unmistakable shimmer of a furnace door opening. Scripture never pretends otherwise. Jesus Himself told His disciples, “In this world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). Tribulation is not a sign that something has gone wrong. It is the evidence that something is being formed.

I. The Furnace No One Volunteers For

From Genesis to Revelation, God’s people are shaped in places no one would choose. Abraham climbs Moriah with trembling hands. Joseph is lowered into a pit and later confined in a prison. David hides in caves while carrying a king’s anointing. The apostles weather storms that threaten to swallow their boat whole. The pattern is consistent: God forms His people in fire, not in ease.

Peter reminds us that none of this should surprise us: “Beloved, do not think it strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened to you” (1 Peter 4:12). The furnace is not an anomaly. It is a classroom. It is a forge. It is the place where faith is not merely professed but proven.

II. The Purpose of the Heat

Fire in Scripture is never random. It is always purposeful, always intentional, always directed by the hand of a God who wastes nothing.

Peter explains that trials refine faith the way fire refines gold. They burn away impurities so that what remains is genuine and precious (1 Peter 1:6–7). Malachi describes the Lord as a refiner and purifier of silver. He sits attentively over the flame until the dross is removed. The reflection of the Refiner appears in the metal (Malachi 3:2–3). Isaiah echoes the same truth when God declares, “I have refined you, but not as silver; I have tested you in the furnace of affliction” (Isaiah 48:10).

And then there is the discipline of the Lord — not the discipline of rejection, but the discipline of belonging. “For whom the Lord loves He chastens… if you are without chastening… then you are illegitimate and not sons” (Hebrews 12:6–8). The heat is not the anger of God. It is the affirmation that you are His.

III. The Baptism Few Prepare For

John the Baptist announced two baptisms: one of the Spirit and one of fire. “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (Matthew 3:11). The church has always celebrated the first. We sing about the Spirit’s refreshing, His filling, His power. But the baptism of fire is real. It is necessary. It is very much a part of the Christian life.

The Spirit empowers, but the fire purifies. The Spirit fills, but the fire transforms. The Spirit equips, but the fire removes what can’t remain.

Isaiah saw the coal touch his lips before he could speak for God (Isaiah 6:6–7). Jeremiah felt the Word burn within him like fire shut up in his bones (Jeremiah 20:9). The disciples saw tongues of fire rest upon them before they stepped into their calling (Acts 2:3–4). Fire precedes function. Purity precedes power.

IV. The God Who Steps Into the Flames

The enemy loves to whisper that the fire is proof of abandonment. Yet Scripture reveals the opposite. The furnace is the place where God’s presence becomes unmistakable.

Nebuchadnezzar threw Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego into the flames. He saw a fourth Man walking with them. This Man looked like “the Son of God” (Daniel 3:24–25). The fire did not consume them; it consumed their ropes. The flames did not destroy them; they revealed the One who stood beside them.

David testified to this reality long before Babylon’s furnace. He said, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you… when you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you” (Isaiah 43:2). God does not meet His people after the fire. He meets them in it.

V. The Witness of the Watching World

The world is always watching how the people of God walk through adversity. Nebuchadnezzar did not glorify God when the Hebrews refused to bow. He glorified God when they walked out of the furnace without the smell of smoke (Daniel 3:27–28).

Paul and Silas sang hymns in a prison cell, and the prisoners listened to them (Acts 16:25). Their endurance became the catalyst for a jailer’s salvation. Peter instructs believers to be prepared to give an answer for the hope within them. This hope is most visible when circumstances should have extinguished it (1 Peter 3:15).

Your trial is never just about you. It becomes a testimony for those who have no language for faith until they see it survive the fire.

VI. The Transformation on the Other Side

When God brings His people out of a furnace, they emerge with something they did not possess before. Job, after walking through unimaginable suffering, declared, “I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees You” (Job 42:5). The fire clarifies vision. It deepens understanding. It strips away illusions.

James tells us that trials produce patience, and patience produces maturity, leaving the believer “perfect and complete, lacking nothing” (James 1:2–4). Paul adds that tribulation produces perseverance, character, and hope — a hope that does not disappoint (Romans 5:3–5).

The furnace graduates the faithful. It does not leave them where it found them.

VII. The Seal: What the Fire Cannot Touch

The flames may touch your circumstances, but they cannot touch your calling. They may shake your emotions, but they cannot shake your election. They may burn away what is temporary, but they cannot scorch what is eternal.

Paul writes with unshakable certainty: “We are hard‑pressed on every side, yet not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8–9). The fire forms the faithful, but it never destroys the chosen.

And Peter closes the loop by reminding us that after we have suffered “a little while,” the God of all grace will “perfect, establish, strengthen, and settle” us (1 Peter 5:10). The furnace is not the end. It is the formation.

PLAYOFF FAITH — RUN TO WIN

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

1 Corinthians 9:24-26


Imagine a sharp, high-definition shot from a night playoff game. Stadium lights cut through the cold air. Breath is visible from the linemen at the line of scrimmage. Grass is torn up under cleats. A roaring crowd is pressed in on all sides. On the field, helmets collide, jerseys stretch, and every yard is fought for. In the stands, thousands of hands are raised. Voices are lifted. Hearts are fully engaged. Yet only twenty-two people are actually in the game.

That’s the picture Paul presses into when he writes:“Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it.”—1 Corinthians 9:24

Every athlete starts the season with the same uniform. They have the same schedule. Everyone faces the same long list of practices and meetings. Film sessions are also part of the routine. In the same way, many believers step into the life of faith. They put on the “uniform.” They attend services. They lift their hands in worship. They learn the language of the kingdom. But Paul’s words cut through a dangerous assumption: simply being on the team does not guarantee the trophy. Not everyone who runs wins. Not everyone who shows up finishes with a crown.

There is a subtle mindset that creeps into the church. It is much like the attitude of some fans in the stands. They think, “I’m here, I’m cheering, I’m emotionally invested — so I’m part of the action.” The stadium needs spectators, but the scoreboard only tracks what happens on the field. In the same way, Christianity was never meant to be a spectator sport. It is not just about watching, reacting, and commenting from a distance. It is a participation calling — a summons onto the field, into the contact, into the cost.

Paul won’t let us hide in the bleachers. He pulls us down to field level and says, in essence: Look around. Everyone is running. Everyone is moving. Everyone appears busy. But only those who run with intention, discipline, and focus actually obtain the prize. That is the difference between regular-season faith and what we call Playoff Faith.

Regular-season faith is content to be present. Playoff Faith is determined to prevail.

Paul continues:“Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable crown, but we an imperishable.”— 1 Corinthians 9:25

Players on the field will push their bodies to the edge of exhaustion. They will study film deep into the night. They will live with relentless focus. All of this effort is for a trophy that will gather dust and a ring that will one day be buried. They do all of that for a glory that fades as soon as the next season starts. Meanwhile, believers are called to train for a crown that will never tarnish. It will never crack, never be outdated, and never be replaced.

Yet if we are honest, many of us have given more discipline to our hobbies, our careers, our favorite teams, and our entertainment than we have to the race of faith.

Paul refuses to preach from a safe distance. He does not see himself as a commentator in the booth, narrating the game while others take the hits. Listen to his language:“So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.”— 1 Corinthians 9:26–27

This is not fear talking; it is focus. This man understands that calling is not the same as finishing. He knows gifting is not the same as winning. He knows that the uniform gives you access, but discipline brings advancement. He refuses to assume that being on the roster of preachers automatically places him on the podium of finishers.

This is where Playoff Faith is born. It doesn’t emerge in the spotlight. It grows in the quiet, unseen choices that separate contenders from the crowd. The ones who advance in the kingdom are not always the most talented. They are not always the most visible or the most loudly cheered. They are the ones who refuse to coast. The ones who refuse to confuse attendance with endurance. The ones who refuse to settle for a spiritual participation trophy when God has placed a real crown within reach.

Playoff Faith is the faith that steps out of the stands and onto the field. It’s the believer who decides, I will not only sing about surrender; I will actually surrender. I will not only clap for obedience; I will actually obey. I will not only cheer for others who run; I will run my own race to win. Christianity is not something we watch; it’s something we walk. It is not something we consume; it’s something we carry.

Playoff Faith wakes with purpose. It trains when no one is watching. It guards the heart when compromise whispers, “Just ease up. You’re doing more than most.” It keeps running when the season gets long and the hits get heavy. It remembers there is a finish line ahead. There is a real reward beyond it. It takes Paul’s words seriously: not everyone who enters the race wins the crown. Everyone who runs to obtain it has a real chance to finish with that crown in hand.

This is the invitation God puts before us. It is not to run casually. It is not to drift. It is not to live as if the outcome is automatic. The invitation is to run with fierce determination, to run with focused determination. That includes seeking the pleasure of God. It involves experiencing the joy of obedience. It testifies to a life that did more than watch from the stands.

You might feel small as a single player in a massive stadium. However, heaven is not judging you based on your seat. It is watching your race.

Playoff Faith does not settle for being on the team. Playoff Faith refuses the comfort of the bleachers. Playoff Faith runs, and trains, and presses, and finishes —to win.

🏈 BENEDICTION — FOR THOSE WHO RUN TO WIN

May the Lord strengthen your stride, discipline your heart, and focus your eyes on the imperishable crown.

May you refuse the comfort of the bleachers, the drift of casual faith, and the illusion that presence equals victory.
May you run with purpose, train with fire, and finish with joy.
And when the hits come, when the season stretches, when the crowd thins —may you remember that heaven does not reward the loudest cheer, but the deepest endurance.
You were not made to spectate. You were called to participate. You were chosen to run.
So run to win.
In Jesus’ name —
Amen.

A Proclamation for Advent

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

The Herald’s Proclamation

We are not entertainers, nor seasonal well-wishers. We are heralds of the Most High, entrusted with a royal decree that cannot be diluted or deferred. The gospel we proclaim is not a cultural tradition, nor a sentimental greeting—it is the eternal announcement of victory through Jesus Christ.

We declare that:

Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures.

He was buried, and He rose again on the third day.

He ascended in triumph and will return in glory.

This is the good news—the power of God unto salvation for all who believe. It is the message entrusted to us, the trumpet blast that awakens the nations, the light that pierces the darkness.

We are commanded to preach repentance and forgiveness of sins in His name to all nations. We are charged to make disciples, baptize, and teach obedience to His Word. We are sent as witnesses, empowered by the Spirit, to proclaim liberty to the captives and sight to the blind.

We do not gather to flatter Him with birthday wishes, as though He were a man bound by time. We gather to proclaim Him as the eternal Son, the risen Lord, the reigning King.

Final Charge

Preach the gospel—not wish Him a happy birthday.

CHRIST: OUR ANCHOR IN THE STORM

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

“We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.”

Hebrews 6:19 isn’t poetic fluff—it’s a lifeline. Jesus is not just our Savior; He is our stabilizer, our security blanket, our unshakable anchor when the winds of grief, injustice, and spiritual warfare howl around us.

In a world unraveling at the seams, where chaos seems to accelerate and darkness presses in, we cling to the hope that does not disappoint.

I was deeply moved by Erika Kirk’s public act of forgiveness toward the man who took her husband’s life. That kind of mercy doesn’t come from human strength—it’s the evidence of the Comforter, the power of the Cross, and the reality of resurrection hope. Her courage reminds us that anchored souls don’t drift—they stand. Even in the face of loss, they testify. Even in the face of evil, they forgive. May we be found tethered to Christ in this hour, not tossed by fear or bitterness, but held fast by the One who conquered death and calms every storm.

Consider the disciples in the boat, battered by waves and overwhelmed by fear, while Jesus slept peacefully in the aft. He had already told them, “Let us go over to the other side”—not “Let us go halfway and drown.” His word was a promise, yet their panic revealed a lack of trust. When they woke Him, He rebuked the wind and the waves, but He also rebuked them: “Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?” (Mark 4:40). Jesus was present the entire time, resting securely because He knew the outcome. The storm was never stronger than His word.

So how do we react when faced with our own storms? Not everyone will endure a tempest as fierce as Erika Kirk’s, yet in the midst of a storm that would render many hopeless, she had the strength to say, “I forgive.” That is faith anchored in Christ. That is the kind of hope that holds fast when everything else breaks loose. Let us not measure the size of our storm, but the strength of our anchor. Let us trust the One who commands the waves and has already spoken our destination into being.

And what of the storms that come not from tragedy, but from vocal opposition—just for being who God called you to be? Remember Goliath, the uncircumcised Philistine who stood day and night belittling Israel, hurling insults and intimidation. The people of God cowered in fear, silenced by the size of the enemy. Today, many voices ridicule those who stand with truth, who support righteousness, who refuse to bow to cultural idols. Verbal grenades are lobbed to shame and silence—but David did not flinch.

David had faced his bears and lions. He had seen God’s deliverance firsthand. So when he heard Goliath’s taunts, he didn’t tremble—he ran toward the battle. His sling and stone were backed by a history of faithfulness. Likewise, those who have suffered and prevailed are uniquely equipped to help others who struggle. Scripture affirms this:

“[God] comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.” (2 Corinthians 1:4)

Let us not be intimidated by the giants of our day. Let us remember that the same God who anchored us in the storm also empowers us in the battle. The same Spirit who calms the sea also silences the accuser. May we stand like David—with history in our hands and hope in our hearts—ready to declare, “The battle is the Lord’s.”

BE A CHARLIE — SOMEONE NEEDS YOUR VOICE

In a generation silenced by fear and fatigue, we need voices that refuse to bow. Charlie stood for truth, for righteousness, for the Kingdom—and paid a price. But his legacy lives on in those who will not be intimidated, who will not retreat, who will not compromise. Be a Charlie. Speak when others shrink. Stand when others scatter. Someone needs your voice. Someone is waiting for your courage to unlock theirs.

Closing Prayer

Lord, anchor us in Your truth. When storms rage and giants roar, remind us that You are with us in the boat and on the battlefield. Give us the boldness of David, the endurance of Erika, and the conviction of Charlie. May we not be silenced by fear or shame, but rise with holy defiance and Spirit-led compassion. Use our scars to heal others. Use our voice to awaken the sleeping. Use our lives to glorify Your name. In Jesus’ name, Amen.