Tag Biblical Prophecy •

EATING BREAD BAKED OVER DUNG: HOW THE CHURCH IS FEEDING ON TRUTH COOKED OVER THE WORLD’S FIRE

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

There is a moment in the book of Ezekiel that feels less like ancient prophecy and more like a mirror held up to the modern church. God commands the prophet to bake his bread over a fire fueled by dung. The command is shocking, but the symbolism is unmistakable. The bread itself is not unclean. The contamination comes from the fire beneath it. The fuel is polluted, and therefore the food absorbs the impurity of the flame. “Thus shall the children of Israel eat their bread defiled among the nations whither I will drive them.” (Ezekiel 4:13).

This is the condition of the church today. We are not consuming outright heresy. We are consuming truth that has been cooked over the wrong fire. The bread is still called “Christian,” but the heat that shapes it comes from a furnace God never authorized.

IN THE WORLD — BUT NO LONGER DISTINCT FROM IT

Jesus prayed a prayer that defined the identity of His people: “I pray not that Thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that Thou shouldest keep them from the evil one.” (John 17:15). His intention was never escape. It was distinction. His followers were to remain present in the world without being shaped by it.

Yet the modern church has drifted into a posture where it is fully immersed in the world’s atmosphere and deeply influenced by its fires. We have not withdrawn from culture, but neither have we remained distinct from it. Instead, we have allowed the world’s flames to season our bread, and the smoke of that fire has begun to alter the taste of our theology, our worship, and our worldview.

Paul warned the church with clarity: “Be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind.” (Romans 12:2). Conformity is not always loud. Sometimes it is subtle. Sometimes it is simply the decision to bake the bread over the wrong fire.

THE BREAD IS STILL GOOD — BUT THE FIRE IS FALSE

Ezekiel did not eat filth. He ate bread baked over filth. The distinction is essential. The danger is not always in the message itself. The danger is in the source of the fire that shapes it.

Scripture gives a name to fire that does not originate from God. It calls it strange fire. When Nadab and Abihu brought unauthorized fire into the presence of the Lord, they were not judged for enthusiasm or sincerity. They were judged because the fire they carried was not the fire God had ignited. “And Nadab and Abihu… offered strange fire before the Lord, which He commanded them not. And there went out fire from the Lord, and devoured them.” (Leviticus 10:1–2).

God does not accept fire He did not ignite.

When the church allows its convictions to be shaped by the world’s furnace, it is offering strange fire. When our emotions are stirred more by headlines than by Scripture, we are offering strange fire. When our worldview is formed by influencers rather than apostles, we are offering strange fire. When our spiritual diet is seasoned by the smoke of digital outrage, we are eating bread baked over dung.

Yet this analogy, while powerful, risks being misunderstood or losing its force. Saying “the bread is still good” can unintentionally excuse the fact that the manner in which the bread was prepared—the fire beneath it—did not truly affect the bread’s essence. But the reality is that the WORD, not baked in the HOLY SPIRIT, not drenched in HOLY ANOINTING OIL, is polluted by popular opinions, cultural constructs, denominational sensibilities, and modern times.

We have heard it over and over: THIS IS THE 21st CENTURY, not the 1st century, as if GOD needs to be modernized. This is offering bread baked over dung, not purified by HOLY FIRE and HOLY ANOINTING.

THE MODERN DUNG‑FIRE: THE 24/7 INFORMATION FURNACE

In Ezekiel’s day, the dung‑fire was literal. In our day, it is digital.

The modern dung‑fire is the constant stream of polluted information that saturates the atmosphere of our culture. It is the twenty‑four‑hour news cycle designed to inflame emotion rather than inform. It is the endless scroll of TikTok clips engineered to provoke outrage and addiction. It is the river of X posts, Facebook arguments, influencer monologues, and algorithm‑driven content that disciples the mind without permission.

Jeremiah warned of voices that speak from their own imagination rather than from the mouth of God: “They speak a vision of their own heart, and not out of the mouth of the Lord.” (Jeremiah 23:16). These voices still speak today, only now they speak through screens, feeds, and notifications.

The modern dung‑fire is the fire of disinformation, the fire of emotional manipulation, the fire of half‑truths, the fire of unverified claims, the fire of algorithmic discipleship. It is the fire of immediacy, urgency, and noise. It is the fire of opinion masquerading as truth and outrage masquerading as conviction.

This is the furnace beneath much of the bread the church consumes.

THE WORLD’S FIRE ALWAYS LEAVES A FLAVOR

Bread absorbs the aroma of the flame beneath it, and so does the soul. A message that begins with Scripture but is baked over the heat of cultural anxiety will taste like fear. A sermon that begins with truth but is shaped by the smoke of political fervor will taste like division. A teaching that begins with holiness but is flavored by the fumes of entertainment culture will taste like compromise.

Jesus warned that the eye — the lamp of the body — determines the condition of the whole person. “If therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light. But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness.” (Matthew 6:22–23). What we gaze upon shapes what we become.

When the church bakes its message over the world’s fire, the result is predictable: a Gospel that comforts but does not confront, a cross that inspires but does not transform, a faith that encourages but does not sanctify, a Jesus who saves but does not rule.

LIGHTS AND GUIDES CANNOT FEED ON THE WORLD’S FUEL

Jesus declared, “Ye are the light of the world.” (Matthew 5:14). Light does not borrow its glow from darkness. A lamp that draws its oil from polluted sources will flicker, dim, and eventually fail.

We cannot guide the world while consuming the world’s worldview. We cannot illuminate darkness while feeding on the philosophies of darkness. We cannot lead people out of Egypt while eating Egypt’s bread.

A guide who eats contaminated bread becomes a blind guide.

THE CALL IS NOT TO LEAVE THE WORLD — BUT TO STOP LETTING IT SEASON YOUR BREAD

Jesus never prayed for His people to escape the world. He prayed for them to be kept from its corruption. The church is not a monastery hiding from culture. It is a messenger sent into culture. But a messenger cannot carry a pure word if the fire beneath the bread is polluted.

Peter echoed the call to distinction: “As He which hath called you is holy, so be ye holy in all manner of conversation.” (1 Peter 1:15). Holiness is not isolation. It is purity of source.

THE SOLUTION: RETURN TO GOD’S FIRE

The bread must be baked again — this time over the fire God Himself ignites. It must be shaped by Scripture rather than speculation, by prayer rather than panic, by consecration rather than consumption, by holiness rather than hype, by the fear of the Lord rather than the fear of missing out.

God’s fire purifies. God’s fire clarifies. God’s fire refines. God’s fire reveals. The world’s fire only distorts.

David prayed, “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.” (Psalm 51:10). Renewal begins when the fire changes.

CONCLUSION: THE DANGER IS NOT THE BREAD — BUT THE FIRE BENEATH IT

Ezekiel’s warning is not a relic of ancient judgment. It is a living word for a church that has forgotten to examine the source of its flame. The bread must be pure. The fire must be holy. The message must be unpolluted. And the church must once again shine with a light that does not come from the world.

The danger is not the bread. The danger is the fire beneath it.

NEW WINE IN NEW WINESKINS

Allen Frederick Leave a comment
A Prophetic Editorial for a Calcified Generation Standing at the Edge of Promise

The Spiritual Disease of Calcification

There is a reason Jesus spoke of wineskins and Jeremiah spoke of clay. Both images expose the same spiritual disease: God refuses to pour His living, expanding, fermenting work into vessels that have become rigid, brittle, and unmoved by His touch. The crisis of our age is not a lack of churches, sermons, or ministries. The crisis is that much of what calls itself the church has become calcified — not merely hardened, but petrified; not merely dry, but fossilized; not merely resistant, but spiritually immovable.

Jeremiah’s Two Movements: Mercy and Judgment

Jeremiah saw this tragedy unfold in two movements. In the potter’s house, he watched clay spoil on the wheel — marred, imperfect, flawed, yet still soft enough to be reshaped. And the Lord said, “O house of Israel, cannot I do with you as this potter?”** (Jeremiah 18:6)**. That was mercy. That was invitation. That was the moment when repentance could still soften the clay.

But the story does not end at the wheel. God sends Jeremiah again — this time not to clay, but to a vessel already fired, already set, already calcified in its form. And the Lord commands him, “Break the bottle… Even so will I break this people”** (Jeremiah 19:10–11)**. This is not clay that can be remade. This is a vessel that has passed the point of pliability. It cannot be reshaped. It can only be shattered.

The Condition of Churchianity Today

This is the condition of churchianity today. It is not simply old; it is calcified. It is not simply traditional; it is petrified. It is not simply cautious; it is unyielded. It has become the bottle of Jeremiah 19 — a vessel that once had potential but now clings so tightly to its own shape that the Potter Himself cannot reform it without breaking it.

Jesus’ Warning: New Wine and Old Wineskins

And Jesus speaks the same truth in different imagery: “No man putteth new wine into old wineskins… the wineskins perish”** (Matthew 9:17)**. Old wineskins are not defined by age but by rigidity. They cannot stretch. They cannot expand. They cannot hold what God is pouring now. They are calcified containers — brittle, inflexible, and destined to burst under the pressure of new wine.

The Wilderness Generation: Stiff-Necked and Wandering

But this is not a new problem. It is the same spirit that kept an entire generation wandering in circles until their bones whitened in the wilderness. “Forty years long was I grieved with this generation… a people that do err in their heart, and they have not known my ways”** (Psalm 95:10). They were wanderers because they were stiff‑necked. They refused correction. They rejected direction. They resisted perfection. And the Lord said plainly, “As I sware in my wrath, they shall not enter into my rest” (Psalm 95:11)**.

Wanderers do not cross over. Calcified vessels do not carry new wine. Stiff‑necked people do not inherit the promise.

Stephen’s Indictment: Resistance to the Holy Ghost

Stephen echoed this same indictment when he cried, “Ye stiff‑necked and uncircumcised in heart and ears, ye do always resist the Holy Ghost”** (Acts 7:51)**. Stiff‑necked people resist the very Spirit sent to transform them. They resist the Potter’s hands. They resist the stretching of the wineskin. They resist the call to become new creatures in Christ.

Paul’s Antidote: Becoming a New Creature

Paul declares the antidote: “If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature”** (2 Corinthians 5:17)**. New creatures are not defined by nostalgia. They are not shaped by tradition. They are not preserved in the amber of past revivals. They are vessels continually softened by repentance, continually stretched by obedience, continually reshaped by the Potter’s hands.

Ezekiel’s Prophecy: From Stony Heart to Heart of Flesh

Ezekiel prophesied of this transformation when he wrote, “I will take the stony heart out of their flesh, and will give them an heart of flesh”** (Ezekiel 11:19)**. A stony heart is a calcified heart — unresponsive, unmoved, unteachable. But a heart of flesh is a wineskin that can stretch. A heart of flesh is clay that can be shaped. A heart of flesh is a vessel that can carry the new wine of God without bursting.

The Potter’s Work Today: Raising New Wineskins

The Potter is not confused in this hour. He is not negotiating with calcified vessels. He is not pouring new wine into containers that have already chosen their shape. He is forming a people who can bend, yield, expand, and be remade. He is raising up new wineskins for a new outpouring. And the only question that remains is whether we will remain calcified relics of what once was, or become pliable vessels for what God is doing now.

The Coming New Wine: A Call to Transformation

For the new wine is coming. The wheel is turning. The Potter’s hands are moving. And He will only entrust His work to vessels that refuse calcification and embrace transformation — vessels that refuse to wander, refuse to stiffen, refuse to fossilize, and instead surrender to the shaping of His hands.

God's Vinedresser

When God Prunes His Vineyard:

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

A Prophetic Call to the American Church

“For it is time for judgment to begin at the household of God” (1 Peter 4:17).

A generation is returning to our doors, but what they find may prompt heaven’s pruning shears.

God's Vinedresser
When God get’s out His pruning shears

Introduction: The Surge That Isn’t a Revival

  • Headline Trend: Church attendance in the U.S. has risen to 32% in 2025, reversing a 15-year decline.
  • Bible Engagement: Gen Z and Millennial men are driving a quiet resurgence in Bible interest.
  • But the Question Remains: Are we returning to God—or just returning to the building?

The Ancient Pattern

This isn’t new. Ezekiel watched as God’s glory departed the temple—but judgment began at the sanctuary (Ezekiel 9:6). The priests wept between the porch and altar. Josiah found the Book of the Law buried under religious debris (2 Kings 22). Hezekiah cleansed temples turned into idol storage (2 Chronicles 29).

History’s rhythm: Revival, compromise, judgment, repentance, restoration. We’re somewhere in that cycle, and the Master Gardener is examining His vineyard.

The Barren Fig Tree: When Orthodoxy Produces No Life

Jesus told this parable with divine patience and terrifying finality:

But mercy intervened—one more year. One more chance. One more vinedresser willing to get dirty.

What It Means to Dig Around the Roots

“Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and put on manure” (Luke 13:8).

The vinedresser doesn’t just water leaves or polish bark. He digs deep around the roots. This is invasive, uncomfortable work:

• Exposing what’s hidden—the root systems of tradition, pride, fear

• Disturbing the comfortable—challenging why we do what we do

• Examining the foundation—is it drawing from Living Water or stagnant wells?

• Adding fresh manure—new anointing, prophetic words, uncomfortable truths that fertilize

When the Tree Rejects the Vinedresser

Some trees prefer death to disturbance.

I know churches that recite ancient catechisms weekly—beautiful, orthodox, dead. They have male elders, biblical structure, reformed theology. They can parse Greek verbs but can’t perceive God’s presence. They guard tradition like temple police while the glory has long departed.

When God sends a vinedresser to dig—someone with dirt under their nails and tears in their eyes—they often reject the mercy meant to save them. Why?

• The digging hurts—it exposes roots wrapped around rocks of tradition

• The manure stinks—fresh anointing offends religious sensibilities

• The change threatens—what if we’ve been wrong all these years?

The Final Season

Sometimes God says to His vinedressers: “Leave. Watch. Let them choose.”

This isn’t abandonment—it’s the final mercy. The tree must choose: submit to the shears or face the axe. Accept the fresh manure or remain barren. Let the vinedresser dig or die with dignity intact.

The Heartbreak of the Vinedresser

Those called to dig around foundations carry unique wounds. They see what could be. They offer what’s needed. They’re usually rejected by the very ones they’re sent to save.

But here’s the prophetic truth: The vinedresser’s testimony becomes evidence. Their rejected service becomes witness. Their tears become intercession. And their departure? Sometimes it starts the clock on that final year of grace.

Are we in that final year of grace?

When Kingdoms Eclipse the Kingdom

The Temple Chant

Jeremiah warned: “Do not trust in these deceptive words: ‘This is the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord'” (Jeremiah 7:4). Today’s version? “We’re growing! We’re relevant! We’re reaching the culture!”

But institutional pride is not spiritual power. Packed pews don’t equal pure hearts. We’re building temples of applause while Jesus stands outside, knocking—not at our cathedral doors, but at the door of our hearts.

I watched it happen in the 1980s. Jimmy Swaggart’s ministry reached millions—crusades, television, music that moved hearts to tears. But somewhere, the ministry became a kingdom. The messenger eclipsed the Message.

God doesn’t share His glory. The pruning was public, painful, and necessary. Not to destroy, but to humble. Not to end, but to redirect. “Every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit” (John 15:2).

The Fruit Inspector Cometh

When young seekers enter our churches, what fruit do they find?

  • Galatians 5 fruit? Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness?
  • Or plastic fruit? Programs, performances, productions?

Jesus warned: “You will recognize them by their fruits” (Matthew 7:16). Not attendance. Not budgets. Not branding. Fruit.

The Hope in the Pruning

God prunes what He loves. He disciplines His children (Hebrews 12:6). The shears in His hand aren’t weapons—they’re tools of restoration.

Where should seekers go?

Look for churches with pruning scars. Leaders humbled and healed. Congregations marked by costly obedience through suffering.

Find places digging around roots, adding manure of repentance, waiting for true fruit. These communities exist—usually smaller, always authentic, forever marked by encounters with the living God.

The Choice: Living Tree or Whitewashed Tomb

Now every church—every believer—stands at the ancient fork:

The Wide Path: Whitewashed Tombs

Jesus reserved His harshest words for this choice:

Markers:

  • Orthodox outside, dead inside
  • Protecting tradition over presence
  • Reciting truth without transformation
  • Offering hungry seekers stones painted like bread
  • Counting attendance while heaven counts fruit

The Narrow Path: Trees of Life

Another way—costly, uncomfortable, glorious:

Markers:

  • Roots deep in living water, not tradition
  • Bearing fruit that feeds the hungry
  • Submitting to the Vinedresser’s shears
  • Choosing disturbance over death
  • Becoming shelter for seekers, not museum for saints

The Question That Determines Everything

Will you be a tree that feeds the hungry or a tomb that impresses the religious?

Young seekers aren’t looking for catechisms. They want Christ. They smell death through whitewash. They hunger for life, even from scarred, pruned trees.

Choose now. The Vinedresser waits with His shears. The season of grace won’t last.

The Urgent Hour

Judgment begins at God’s house because we know better. We have the Word. The Spirit. The history. When we offer religious performance instead of living water, we’re failing—we’re under judgment.

But mercy knocks. The Gardener offers one more season. The question: Submit to shears, or wait for the axe?

This generation hungers for God. Let’s stop feeding them everything else. Submit to pruning, return to first love, bear fruit that remains.

The alternative? “Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire” (Matthew 7:19).

The choice is ours. The hour is late. The Gardener is waiting.

This has been “A View From the Nest.” And that is the way I see it! What say you?

Watchman Report: Live from the Court of Public Spectacle

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

Allen Frederick

Filed by: The Watchman

Last Saturday, cities across the nation echoed with the resolute voices of thousands gathered at the “No Kings” rallies. These protests, fueled by a deep dissatisfaction with the current government, marked a pivotal moment of public outcry and spiritual unrest. As the crowds marched and chanted, the air was thick with tension and anticipation, setting the stage for a drama that transcends politics and touches the very heart of our cultural and spiritual identity. Tonight, we begin our report by looking back at these rallies and the powerful message they sent across the land. This whole scene is reminiscent of a similar scene that took place more than 2000 years ago. The similarities are striking! Let’s take a trip down memory lane.

REPORTING LIVE FROM THE NO KINGS RALLY

Good evening, listeners. This is your anchor coming to you live with a special report unfolding at the crossroads of faith and culture. Tonight, we witness a drama as old as time itself—the Passion, replayed not on a distant stage, but in the very streets and courts of our world today. The crowd is restless, voices rise in fervor, and the stakes could not be higher. Stay tuned as we bring you the unfolding story, the key players, and the truth that refuses to be silenced.

Opening Broadcast

This is the Watchman, reporting live from the arena of ideological warfare.
The crowd is surging. The chants are coordinated. The signs are sharp.
But beneath the slogans and spectacle, the ancient drama unfolds again.

The Passion is replaying—not in Jerusalem, but in every city square.
The players are familiar. The tactics unchanged.
The target? Still Truth.
The verdict? Still pending.

First Quarter: The Stirring of the Crowd

The governing authorities have taken the field—not to calm, but to agitate.
They’ve deployed their playbook:

  • Stir unrest
  • Isolate the righteous
  • Judge-shop for friendly venues

The crowd responds on cue.
Chants erupt like drumlines:

“No kings!”
“Give us Barabbas!”
“Crucify conviction!”

The volume is deafening.
But the loudest voice doesn’t get the last word.

Second Quarter: The Royal Court of Righteousness Takes the Stand

Each ideological mascot steps forward, cloaked in moral certainty:

  • The Advocate of Accommodation demands tolerance—on his terms.
    He’s not here to listen. He’s here to legislate your repentance.
  • The Priest of Preference rejects divine order.
    He quotes Caesar, not Scripture.
    His altar is built on feelings, not truth.
  • The Protest Scribe unfurls his scroll.
    It’s long. It’s loud. It’s lawless.
    He wants justice—but only for his tribe.
  • The Judge of Identity declares, “I am who I say I am.”
    But Truth replies, “I Am who I Am—and you are not Me.”
  • The Herald of Hurt limps forward.
    Her wounds are real—but her weapon is resentment.
    She demands healing without surrender.

Halftime: The Judges Wash Their Hands

Just like Pilate, today’s judges are shopping for friendly courts.
They want rulings that affirm the crowd, not the Constitution.
They misapply the law to preserve their own peace.
They fear the mob more than they fear God.

“Shall I crucify your King?”
“We have no king but Caesar.”

Third Quarter: The Spectacle Builds

The crowd grows louder.
The costumes more theatrical.
The media amplifies the illusion of strength.

But the Watchman sees:

  • The spectacle is smoke.
  • The unity is Babel.
  • The power is borrowed.

They chant for chaos over peace.
They crown comfort over conviction.
They crucify Truth—and call it progress.

Fourth Quarter: The Rising

They think they’ve won.
They think the tomb is sealed.
They think the Lamb is silenced.

But Truth is not dead.
Truth is not buried.
Truth is rising.

“He was oppressed and afflicted, yet He did not open His mouth.” — Isaiah 53:7
“You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” — John 8:32
“Woe to those who call evil good and good evil.” — Isaiah 5:20

Final Call from the Booth

This is the Watchman, signing off.
Crowds chant.
Judges fold.
Scribes scribble.

But the Lamb still reigns!
And the final whistle belongs to Him.

“You have judged the Son of Man by your standards.
But He will judge you by His.”