Tag Christian Encouragement

Who’s Guarding the Tomb of Jesus?

Allen Frederick Leave a comment
A Call for the Church to Return to the Living Christ

The Borrowed Tomb and the Fear Surrounding It

“And when Joseph had taken the body, he wrapped it in a clean linen cloth and laid it in his own new tomb which he had hewn out of the rock; and he rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb, and departed.” Matthew 27:59–60

Jesus was laid in a borrowed tomb cut from stone — a place meant for the dead, not for the Lord of life. Wrapped in linen and sealed behind a stone, He appeared to be at the end of the story, yet fear still lingered around Him. Herod feared His influence, the chief priests feared His promise, and Rome feared His followers. So they posted guards, sealed the tomb, and tried to contain the One who had already said, “I will rise again.”

They feared His body might be stolen and His resurrection proclaimed. They feared a rumor, a movement, a miracle. But no fear, stone, soldier, or seal could hold the risen Lord. Death could not keep Him. The grave could not restrain Him. The tomb could not silence Him. He walked out of the place they tried to secure.

Yet today, the church often attempts what Rome could not do.

We carve out our own “tombs” — leather-bound, gold-leafed, printed, indexed, and wrapped in doctrinal linen — and call them the canon. We treat Scripture not as a witness to the Living Word, but as His container. We wrap Jesus in pages and call it reverence. We seal Him behind interpretations and call it orthodoxy. We post guards named Tradition, Control, Suspicion, and Fear, insisting that God speaks only in the past tense.

Still, the angels’ words continue to answer every attempt to confine the living Christ:
“Why seek the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen.” Luke 24:5–6

The Danger of a Past-Tense Christ

Jesus warned the Pharisees in words that still speak to every generation:

“You search the Scriptures, for in them you think you have eternal life; and these are they which testify of Me. But you are not willing to come to Me that you may have life.” John 5:39–40

They studied the text but missed the Person. They honored the words while ignoring the voice. They revered the scroll but rejected the Savior. The modern church repeats that error whenever it says, “We know God only by what He has said,” as though the risen Christ stopped speaking when the apostles died.

Yet Jesus promised the continuing ministry of the Spirit:

“When He, the Spirit of truth, has come, He will guide you into all truth… He will speak… He will declare to you the things that are to come.” John 16:13

The Spirit has not retired, the Shepherd has not gone silent, and the Head of the Church has not stepped aside.

The living Christ still leads, speaks, knocks, and calls His people into fellowship with Him.

Sewing the Veil Back Together

When Jesus died, the temple veil was torn from top to bottom — not by human effort, but by God Himself.

“And behold, the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.” Matthew 27:51

The torn veil declared one thing: access. Through Christ alone, the Father opened unrestricted, unmediated, unguarded access to Himself.

But religion often tries to sew the veil back together. The Pharisees did it by laying unbearable burdens on others:

“You travel land and sea to win one convert, and when he is won, you make him twice as much a son of hell as yourselves.” Matthew 23:15

They wrapped God in rules, rituals, and requirements; they wrapped people in expectations, traditions, and fear; and they wrapped truth in layers of human authority.

Today, we can wrap Jesus in the burial cloths of catechisms, doctrinal statements, theological systems, Reformation language, dissertations, and denominational fences. We stitch the veil with academic thread and call it faithfulness, placing barriers between God and His people that neither we nor our ancestors could bear.

But the Gospel remains simple:
Jesus died for our sins. Jesus rose from the dead. Jesus alone opens the way into the Holy of Holies.

The way into God’s presence does not rest on catechisms, confessions, doctrinal precision, theological pedigree, denominational loyalty, or intellectual mastery of Scripture.

Jesus Himself is the way, the truth, and the life. John 14:6

Not merely the Bible about Him — but Christ within us.

Christ in Us — Not Christ Confined to the Pages

Paul did not say, “Christ in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John is the hope of glory.”
He said:

“Christ in you, the hope of glory.” Colossians 1:27

Reading about Jesus is not the same as walking with Him, studying His life is not the same as hearing His voice, and knowing His teachings is not the same as knowing His presence.

The Gospel was never meant to remain a museum exhibit; it was meant to become a living encounter with the risen Christ.

The Closed Door of the Church

One of Revelation’s most sobering images is not a rebellious world, but a closed church:

“Behold, I stand at the door and knock.” Revelation 3:20

Jesus is not knocking on the door of unbelievers; He is knocking on the door of believers. He is not outside the world in this image; He is outside the church that has shut Him out. He is not asking for a platform from which to be displayed; He is asking for a table where fellowship can be restored. He is not seeking a pulpit for performance; He is seeking communion with His people. He is not offering a lecture from a distance; He is offering the shared intimacy of a meal.

The risen Christ desires to tabernacle with His people — to dwell, dine, speak, guide, comfort, correct, and commune. Yet He will not force His way past the guards we place at the tomb, shout over our programs, or break through the stone of our fear; instead, He knocks, calls, and waits.

Return to Your First Love

The church at Ephesus had doctrine, discipline, endurance, and order. Still, Jesus said: “Nevertheless, I have this against you, that you have left your first love.” Revelation 2:4 Although they possessed many marks of religious faithfulness, they had lost the One who mattered most.

That is the danger of a tomb-guarding church: we can honor the Christ of history while neglecting the Christ who is present, defend the Word of God while resisting the voice of God, and preach the resurrection while living as though He remains sealed behind stone.

But the risen Lord calls us back — not to a memory, doctrine, or system, but to Himself. He calls us to open the door, welcome His presence, hear His voice, dine with Him, and return to our first love.

The Final Call: Stop Guarding the Tomb

The question is no longer, “Who guarded the tomb then?”
The question is, “Who is guarding it now?”

We must ask whether we are the ones keeping Jesus sealed behind tradition, wrapped in doctrinal linen, locked inside the pages, held outside the church door, and prevented from speaking, leading, interrupting, and reigning among us.

And perhaps the deeper question is this: Where did you bury Jesus? Have you buried Jesus beneath your fear, your theology, your suspicion of the Spirit, your comfort with silence, or your preference for control?

The risen Christ will not remain boxed, sealed, scheduled, or scripted; He walks into gatherings rather than graveyards, breathes on disciples rather than doctrines, knocks on doors rather than pulpits, and speaks to hearts, not only through pages.

And He is knocking now. The final word belongs to the risen Christ Himself: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me.” Revelation 3:20



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

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Same Road, Different Direction

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

Imagine a mountain road stretching out before you—a long, winding ribbon of asphalt clinging to the rugged side of the earth. It twists and turns, doubling back on itself like a traveler trying to recall where they lost their way. From one perspective, it feels like an uphill climb; from another, it seems like a steady descent. This is the same road, yet the direction you take is a choice.

Life on this planet is rarely a straight path. We all navigate a landscape filled with mountains to climb, valleys to cross, rocky crags to avoid, and stretches of emptiness where the horizon seems to forget your name. Anyone claiming to have walked a perfectly straight path likely hasn’t traveled far enough to encounter the switchbacks.

The Reality of Switchbacks

Switchbacks are those sharp reversals in the road that feel like setbacks. They are the seasons when it seems you’re moving backward, the moments when the path bends so sharply you wonder if God missed a turn. Yet, every switchback is part of the climb. Every reversal is a disguised rise. Every moment that feels like a step back is lifting you higher.

James captures this truth beautifully: “The trying of your faith worketh patience. And patience, when fully developed, leads to spiritual maturity and completeness.” (James 1:3–4). This scripture reminds us that completeness is the summit we aim for—not comfort, not ease, nor the illusion of a straight path.

The Road Is Lit

Here’s a crucial truth we often overlook: the road is lit. Every curve, every cliff, every dangerous edge, every place where the mountain presses in and the drop-off yawns wide is illuminated. If you turn off the lights, this road becomes a graveyard. One missed curve, one blind corner, one moment of darkness—and you’re lost.

But when the way is lit, the impossible becomes navigable. Psalm 119:105 declares, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” This verse assures us that God’s Word lights our way even in the darkest moments.

Walking Through Darkness

Some have known darkness all too well. They have walked miles in it, surviving by instinct and grit, bruised by hard knocks. They stumble forward because stumbling is all they’ve ever known—not because they rejected the Light, but because no one told them that the Light of the World has come.

Often, wounds, betrayals, losses, and disappointments snuff out hope, leaving people wandering in a night they never asked for, haunted by the question: “Why is God doing this to me?” Tragically, they blame the very One who came to rescue them from the darkness.

John 1:5 reminds us, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” This truth offers hope to those lost in despair.

The Beginning of Light Starts at the Cross

Wisdom, hope, and light all begin at the Cross. Without Christ’s resurrection, as Paul said, we are the most miserable of all. Hopeless, directionless, lost on a winding mountain road in total darkness.

But the Light has come. The Gospel shines. The path can be lit.

Yet, the choice remains ours.

We can continue sliding downhill into old patterns and the familiar bondage we once begged God to deliver us from, or we can turn around, repent, and start climbing again.

Romans 6:4, “We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.”

Lessons from Israel’s Journey

Israel had light in the darkness—a pillar of fire by night and a cloud by day. Yet, they longed for Egypt, the “good old days” of slavery, chains mistaken for comfort, and bondage called familiarity.

Though the wilderness seemed endless, it was not. There was an endgame, a Promised Land, a summit.

And that promise remains for us today.

The road is winding, the climb is steep, and the switchbacks are real—but the path is lit.

Hebrews 12:1-2 encourages us to “run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.”

The only question left is this: which direction will you choose?

Altar Call: The Turnaround

If you have been walking in darkness, stumbling forward on instinct, surviving instead of truly living, or longing for the familiar chains of Egypt because the climb feels too hard, hear this:

You can turn around.

You can choose the Light. You can choose the climb. You can choose the Way—because the Way chose you first.

Jesus said, “I am the Light of the world. He who follows Me shall not walk in darkness but shall have the light of life.” (John 8:12)

If you are ready to step out of the shadows, to stop wandering, and to walk a well-lit road that leads upward toward completeness, then right where you are, whisper the simplest prayer a human heart can pray:

“Lord, show me the way.”

He will. He always does.

Same road. Different direction. Choose the Light. Choose the climb. Choose the summit.

TAKING OUT THE TRASH: WHEN GOD CALLS YOU TO REMOVE WHAT NO LONGER BELONGS

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

There comes a moment in every believer’s life when God stops rearranging the furniture and starts pointing to the trash can. It is the moment when He says, “This must go.” Not because He is cruel, but because He is holy. Not because He wants to deprive you, but because He wants to prepare you. And nothing reveals the state of a heart or a house like the willingness to take out the trash.

The Scriptures are clear: before God builds, He clears. Before He fills, He empties. Before He sends, He strips. Before He promotes, He purges. Every major move of God begins with removal.

THE GOD WHO CLEARS BEFORE HE FILLS

When Jacob prepared his household to return to Bethel, he did not begin with worship. He began with a trash run. Scripture says, “And they gave unto Jacob all the foreign gods which were in their hand, and the rings which were in their ears; and Jacob hid them under the oak which was by Shechem.” (Genesis 35:4). The idols were not merely set aside; they were buried. They were not stored for later; they were removed permanently.

When Hezekiah restored the temple, the first command was not to sing, sacrifice, or celebrate. It was to clean. Scripture records, “And the priests went into the inner part of the house of Jehovah, to cleanse it… and they brought out all the uncleanness that they found in the temple of Jehovah.” (2 Chronicles 29:16). Revival did not begin with music. It began with a trash pile.

Even Jesus Himself began His ministry in Jerusalem by cleansing the temple. “And he made a scourge of cords, and cast all out of the temple… and he poured out the changers’ money, and overthrew their tables.” (John 2:15). Before He taught, He removed. Before He healed, He overturned. Before He revealed His glory, He took out the trash.

God has always been a God of separation before He is a God of elevation.

WHEN TREASURE BECOMES TRASH

The difficulty for most believers is not identifying evil. It is identifying what has become expired. Trash is not always wicked. Sometimes it is simply out of season.

A relationship that once supported you can become a weight. A habit that once protected you can become a prison. A mindset that once made sense can become a limitation. An assignment that once was God‑given can become God‑replaced.

The tragedy is that many believers cling to yesterday’s treasures long after God has declared them today’s trash. What Jacob’s household considered sentimental, God considered idolatrous. What the temple priests tolerated as normal, God called unclean. What the money changers saw as ministry, Jesus saw as obstruction.

When God says, “Bury it,” He is not asking for negotiation. He is asking for obedience.

THE COST OF KEEPING WHAT GOD TOLD YOU TO REMOVE

Trash left too long does not stay neutral. It transforms. It decays. It spreads. It affects the entire environment.

Trash begins to stink.

What was once tolerable becomes toxic. What once blended in becomes unbearable.

Trash attracts pests.

Flies, maggots, and rodents gather where decay is allowed to remain. The spiritual equivalents are bitterness, compromise, and confusion.

Trash takes up space.

You cannot receive the new when the old is still occupying the room. God will not pour fresh oil into a vessel filled with yesterday’s residue.

Trash becomes part of the atmosphere.

The most dangerous thing about trash is not the smell—it is the ability to get used to the smell. A believer can become so accustomed to clutter that they no longer recognize the stench.

This is why God insists on removal. He is not trying to deprive you. He is trying to deliver you.

THE CHURCH AND THE TRASH IT REFUSES TO REMOVE

This message is not only personal; it is corporate. The modern church has accumulated trash in the form of traditions, programs, compromises, and cultural concessions that God never asked for. Jesus did not cleanse the temple because it was inactive. He cleansed it because it was misaligned.

The church today must confront the same reality. There are things we have kept because they are familiar, not because they are faithful. There are practices we defend because they are comfortable, not because they are biblical. There are ideas we tolerate because they are popular, not because they are pure.

God is calling His people to take out the trash so His presence can return in fullness.

THE CALL TO ACTION: WHAT GOD CALLS YOU TO BURY, YOU CANNOT AFFORD TO KEEP

Every trash day has two steps: identify what must go, and remove it. Not talk about it. Not pray about it. Not journal about it. Not negotiate with it. Remove it.

The apostle Paul captured this urgency when he wrote, “Let us cleanse ourselves from all defilement of flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of God.” (2 Corinthians 7:1). Cleansing is not passive. It is intentional. It is decisive. It is obedient.

You cannot step into a new season carrying the trash of the old one. You cannot walk in new identity while dragging old debris. You cannot embrace God’s future while clutching yesterday’s clutter.

When God points to the trash can, He is pointing to your next level.

CONCLUSION: THE HOLY WORK OF REMOVAL

Taking out the trash is not glamorous. It is not celebrated. It is not applauded. But it is holy. It is necessary. It is the doorway to transformation. Before God builds, He clears. Before He fills, He empties. Before He sends, He strips. Before He promotes, He purges.

And when you obey, the atmosphere shifts. The house breathes again. The heart becomes light again. The Spirit moves freely again. And the presence of God fills the space that clutter once occupied.

What God calls you to bury, you cannot afford to keep.

CHASING SHADOWS OR LIVING IN THE LIGHT

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

A Parable for a Shadow‑Heavy Generation

There is a strange thing about shadows that most people never stop to consider. We fear them, we fight them, we flinch at them, and we often assume they are signs of danger. But shadows are not enemies. Shadows are not omens. Shadows are not prophecies of doom. Shadows are simply the evidence that light is present. No light, no shadow. And if a shadow falls across your path, it means the Shepherd has not stopped shining. It means you are still standing in the radiance of the One who leads His people beside still waters and restores their souls. Psalm 23 does not deny the existence of shadows; it simply refuses to let them define the journey. “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me” (Psalm 23:4). The valley has shadows, yes, but it also has a Shepherd. And the Shepherd is not a shadow.

Shadows only appear when something stands between you and the source of light. They are not the thing itself; they are the outline of the thing. They are distortions, silhouettes, exaggerations. They can look larger than life, but they have no substance. They cannot strike you, cannot bind you, cannot devour you. They can only distract you. And distraction is often more dangerous than destruction. The enemy knows he cannot extinguish the Shepherd’s light, so he tries instead to cast shadows—illusions, distortions, misdirections—hoping you will spend your strength boxing silhouettes instead of walking forward in truth.

But shadows can also serve as guides. If the shadow is behind you, you are walking toward the light. If the shadow is in front of you, you are walking away from the light. And if you suddenly realize you have been following shadows instead of the Shepherd, the solution is not complicated. Turn around. Repentance is not groveling; it is reorientation. It is the simple act of turning your face back toward the Light that never stopped shining.

THE SHADOW OF DISTORTED PERCEPTIONS

When the Outline Looks Larger Than the Object

One of the most common shadows we face is the shadow of distorted perception. A small object, when placed close to a light source, can cast a massive shadow. A minor problem can look like a mountain. A passing comment can feel like a verdict. A temporary setback can masquerade as a permanent defeat. We build giants out of silhouettes and then tremble before the shapes we ourselves enlarged.

But the Shepherd calls us to walk by truth, not by distortion. He invites us to look past the shadow and fix our eyes on the source. “The entrance of Your words gives light; it gives understanding to the simple” (Psalm 119:130). Light clarifies. Light reveals. Light shrinks the shadow back to its true size.

When you walk with the Shepherd, you stop judging obstacles by their shadows and start judging them by their substance. You stop reacting to silhouettes and start responding to truth. You stop fearing the outline and start trusting the Light.

THE SHADOW OF BORROWED REFLECTIONS

When You Let Others Tell You Who You Are

Another shadow that steals strength is the shadow cast by other people’s reflections. We live in a world obsessed with mirrors—likes, comments, applause, criticism, expectations, comparisons. Many have built their identity not on who God says they are, but on the shadows cast by others’ opinions.

But a shadow cannot tell you who you are. A reflection cannot define your worth. Only the Shepherd can restore your soul. “He restores my soul; He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake” (Psalm 23:3).

When you live by borrowed reflections, you shrink. When you live by the Shepherd’s voice, you rise. His rod and His staff do more than protect; they correct your vision. They remind you that you are not the sum of others’ shadows. You are the workmanship of the Light Himself. And when you walk in that truth, the shadows of others’ expectations fall harmlessly behind you.

THE SHADOW OF VISION MISDIRECTION

When You Focus on the Shadow Instead of the Source

Comfort does not come from chasing shadows. Comfort comes from walking with the One whose light exposes what stands in your way.

The Shepherd does not cast shadows to frighten you. His light does not create the shadow—the obstruction does. But His light reveals the obstruction for what it truly is. And that is the difference between fear and clarity.

When you stare at the shadow, you magnify it. You distort it. You give it a shape it does not deserve and a power it does not possess. A small obstacle, when viewed only by its shadow, can look like a towering mountain. But when you turn your eyes toward the Light, the truth becomes embarrassingly clear:

That mountain is nothing more than an anthill.

Shadows exaggerate. Light reveals.

If you focus on the shadow, you will always misjudge the size of the thing blocking your path. You will fight silhouettes instead of dealing with the real issue. You will waste strength boxing a distortion instead of stepping around the actual obstacle.

But when you focus on the Light, you see the obstruction plainly. You see its true size, its true shape, its true insignificance. You see the path around it. You see the Shepherd ahead of you, not the shadow before you.

And here is the quiet wisdom hidden in every valley:

If the shadow is in front of you, you are walking away from the Light. If the shadow is behind you, you are walking toward the Light. And if you find yourself overwhelmed by shadows, turn around.

Repentance is not punishment. It is reorientation. It is the simple act of turning your face back toward the Light that never stopped shining.

The valley of the shadow of death is not a place where shadows win. It is a place where the Shepherd teaches you how to see.

THE SHADOW OF BASIC DECEPTION

When Darkness Pretends to Be Wisdom

Some shadows are cast by lies spoken long ago—words that lodged themselves in the soul and grew roots. “You can’t.” “You’re not enough.” “You’re too broken.” “You’re too late.” “You’re too far gone.” These are not obstacles; they are voices. And shadows love to speak.

But the Shepherd speaks louder. “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life” (Psalm 23:6). Goodness follows you, not gloom. Mercy follows you, not condemnation.

The Shepherd prepares a table in the presence of those lies, anoints your head with truth, and fills your cup until the shadows drown in His goodness. And yes, sometimes the darkness is deep enough that you need help. Sometimes the valley is heavy enough that you need a hand to hold. There is no shame in that. The Shepherd often sends His help through people.

But the first step out of deception is always the same: turn toward the Light.

THE INVITATION OF THE SHEPHERD

Walk Through, Don’t Camp In

Shadows are temporary. Light is eternal. You can spend your life chasing silhouettes, or you can walk with the Shepherd who leads you out of them.

Psalm 23 does not say, “I pitched my tent in the valley of the shadow.” It says, “I walk through.” You don’t fight shadows. You don’t negotiate with them. You don’t measure your life by them. You simply turn toward the Light and keep walking.

And as you walk, the shadows fall behind you. The path brightens. The valley narrows. The table appears. The oil flows. The cup overflows. And goodness and mercy begin to follow you—not shadows, not fear, not deception—just goodness and mercy, all the days of your life.

For the one who walks with the Shepherd, shadows are not threats. They are signposts. They are directional markers. They are reminders that the Light is still shining.

And the Light is leading you home.

Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path. Psalm 119:105

Fill My Cup, Lord — When God Meets Us in the Desert

Allen Frederick Leave a comment
When Your Cup Feels Empty

There are seasons when the soul feels like a desert—cracked, dry, sun‑bleached, and silent. You pray, but the words feel thin. You worship, but the well feels low. You keep moving, but the ground beneath you feels like sand slipping through your fingers.

And yet, it is in these very places—these barren, thirsty stretches—that God does His most intimate work. He does not wait for us to be full. He meets us in the emptiness.

The woman at the well came with an empty jar and an emptier heart. David wandered through valleys where shadows stretched long and water was scarce. Israel walked through wilderness places where thirst became a test of trust.

And so we pray:

“Fill my cup, Lord. Fill it until the desert blooms.”

The Hymn That Speaks for Us

“Fill my cup, Lord; I lift it up, Lord. Come and quench this thirsting of my soul.”

The old hymn captures the cry of every thirsty soul. It’s the same cry the woman at the well carried, the same cry David prayed in the valley, the same cry we bring into our own deserts. The world offers cups that run dry — but God offers a cup that overflows.

Let the LORD FILL YOUR CUP as you listen to the message in this old Hymn
The God Who Meets Us in the Desert

God does not avoid deserts—He enters them. He walks into the wilderness with us, not after we escape it. He brings water to barren places, strength to weary bones, and hope to hearts that feel sun‑scorched.

He does not shame the thirsty. He fills them.

He does not rebuke the empty. He restores them.

He does not despise the desert. He transforms it.

The Overflow Is Coming

When God fills a cup, it never stops at the brim. His nature is abundance. His heart is generosity. His presence is overflow.

David didn’t say, “My cup is full.” He said:

“My cup runs over.”

That is the promise for every believer who lifts their cup in faith. Not a trickle. Not a drop. Not a barely‑enough stream.

Overflow.

A Prayer for the Thirsty Soul

Lord, here is my cup—empty, cracked, and dry. I lift it up to You. Pour into me what the world cannot give. Quench the thirst I cannot satisfy on my own. Let the desert places of my life become wells of living water. Fill me until I overflow.

Amen.

This is your Worship Wednesday reflection — a reminder that God meets us in the dry places and fills us with more than enough.