Tag spiritual maturity

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.

WHO AMONG YOU?

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

A Call to Spiritual Fathers

Introduction: Let’s Start at the Very Beginning

Did you ever wonder why things are the way they are? Why fatherhood feels fractured, why families feel fragile, why churches feel unanchored, and why society feels unformed? The best way to understand anything is to start at the beginning.

When we read, we begin with ABC. When we learn music, we begin with Do Re Mi. And when we study the Word of God, we begin with “In the beginning, God…” Gen 1:1

God created man in His image. God gave man identity, authority, responsibility, and covering. God placed man in the garden to cultivate, guard, and lead.

But the first crisis in human history was not violence — it was abdication. Adam did not fall because he was deceived. He fell because he was silent. He surrendered leadership when he was called to stand. He submitted to the voice of the bride instead of the voice of the Bridegroom.

And that fracture — that abdication and resulting societal collapse— has echoed through every generation since.

It shows up in marriages where husbands withdraw, and wives carry burdens they were never meant to carry. It shows up in families where fathers are absent, passive, or overrun. It shows up in society where children are raised by systems instead of parents. And it shows up in the church, where spiritual fathers are scarce, formation is shallow, and believers remain unanchored.

The crisis of our age is not merely cultural — it is foundational. It began with Adam, and it continues wherever men abandon the role God entrusted to them.

A Day for Fathers, a Word for the Fatherless

Father’s Day is meant to honor strength, guidance, sacrifice, and legacy. Yet for many people—both inside the church and beyond it—the day also sharpens the ache of what was absent: protection that never came, counsel never given, and affirmation never spoken.

Scripture does not look away from that ache. It speaks directly into it, presenting God not as distant from human loss but as One who steps into it.

“A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling.” [Psalm 68:5]

That promise comforts the wounded, but it also raises a searching question for the contemporary church. If God reveals Himself as Father to the fatherless, what does it mean when the household of faith itself begins to feel fatherless—rich in activity, perhaps, but poor in spiritual formation, moral courage, and generational care?

On a day dedicated to fathers, the deeper issue is not simply whether fathers should be celebrated, but whether the church is still capable of forming them—spiritually, morally, and relationally. The question before us is not sentimental. It is searching: Who among us fears the Lord? Who among us will stand in the breach? Who among us will do the slow, sacrificial work of becoming a fatherly presence in a generation formed more by neglect than by nurture?

When the Church Loses Formation, It Loses Its Compass

The New Testament never presents the church as a weekly gathering designed to maintain religious activity. It presents the church as a household, a family, a body, and a temple — something living, growing, maturing, and being built with intentionality and order. Paul writes that the church is “built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief cornerstone.” (Ephesians 2:20) This is not poetic language; it is architectural reality. Foundations determine everything that stands upon them.

Apostles and prophets were not ornamental titles; they were foundational roles. Apostles laid the groundwork, established doctrine, set expectations, and taught spiritual children how to grow into spiritual adults. Prophets saw the fractures, discerned the drift, confronted the compromise, and offered correction, direction, and alignment. Together they provided what every household needs: fathers who build and fathers who correct.

Paul understood this deeply when he wrote, “Though you have ten thousand instructors in Christ, yet you do not have many fathers.” (1 Corinthians 4:15) He was not merely lamenting a leadership imbalance; he was exposing a spiritual crisis. Instructors can fill classrooms, but fathers fill lives. Teachers can pass on information, but fathers pass on identity. Professors can lecture, but fathers can raise. And Paul was saying to the church he birthed: You have plenty of people who want to talk, but very few who want to labor, weep, travail, correct, nurture, and actually raise children.

This is the crisis of the modern church. We have teachers in abundance, pastors in every corner, and programs for every age group, yet we remain a people largely unformed, undisciplined, and spiritually immature. Even society mirrors this truth. We have schoolhouses full of teachers, universities full of professors, and a culture full of people who have been instructed endlessly yet remain directionless, unstable, and unanchored. Instruction alone cannot produce maturity. Information alone cannot produce identity. Education alone cannot produce formation.

The Scripture is painfully clear: apostles and prophets were given “until we all come into the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.” (Ephesians 4:13) And since it is abundantly obvious that we have not yet arrived at that fullness, the conclusion is equally obvious: we still need the foundational ministries God gave.

When the church removes apostles and prophets, it removes fathers and watchmen. When it removes fathers and watchmen, it removes discipline and direction. When it removes discipline and direction, it removes formation. And when formation is lost, the church becomes a crowd instead of a family, a gathering instead of a household, an institution instead of a body, and a weekly event instead of a people being built into the likeness of Christ.

A church without apostles may be organized, but it will not be grounded. A church without prophets may be active, but it will not be aligned. A church without fathers may be full, but it will not be formed.

And when the church loses formation, it loses its compass. It loses its ability to correct with love, to recognize emerging callings, to send with wisdom, to nurture with patience, and to cultivate the kind of maturity that endures beyond emotion, event, or entertainment. It may produce volunteers and workers, but it will struggle to raise disciples who can strengthen others.

Without the foundation God designed, the church becomes exactly what society has become: a people with thousands of instructors but few fathers, thousands of voices but little wisdom, thousands of opinions but no direction, thousands of gatherings but no growth.

The solution is not complicated. It is simply costly. Bring back the apostles. Bring back the prophets. Bring back the fathers. Bring back the foundation.

Only then will the church recover its compass, its clarity, its courage, and its calling.

The Garden Pattern: When Fathers Fail, the World Fractures

If we are going to speak honestly about the condition of our world, we cannot begin with the headlines, the statistics, or the cultural symptoms that parade across our screens. We must return to the first wound, the first fracture, the first moment when fatherhood failed and the world began to unravel. That moment did not take place in a courtroom or a classroom or a broken home; it took place in a garden planted by God Himself, where a man entrusted with dominion refused to obey the only command his Father had given him.

The Lord had spoken with clarity and generosity: “You may freely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day you eat of it you shall surely die.” (Genesis 2:16–17) It was not a complicated command. It was not burdensome. It was not restrictive. It was a boundary meant to preserve life, identity, and fellowship. Yet Adam turned his ear toward another voice, reached for what was forbidden, and stepped across the line God had drawn for his protection.

In that single act of disobedience, the world shifted. The Scriptures tell us that “their eyes were opened” (Genesis 3:7), but what they saw was not enlightenment — it was the sudden awareness of shame. They hid themselves among the trees, confessing, “I was afraid because I was naked, and I hid myself.” (Genesis 3:10) Fear replaced fellowship. Shame replaced innocence. Blame replaced responsibility. And the man who had been placed in the garden to cultivate and keep it now found himself driven from it: “So He drove out the man…” (Genesis 3:24)

The consequences unfolded with devastating speed. The ground that once yielded freely now resisted him: “By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread.” (Genesis 3:19) The peace of Eden gave way to the toil of survival. The harmony of the first family dissolved into rivalry and violence as Cain rose up against Abel and spilled his brother’s blood into the earth (Genesis 4:8). What began as a single act of disobedience became a generational pattern — a cycle of brokenness, rebellion, and fatherlessness that has echoed through every age.

And here is the sobering truth: the same pattern repeats itself whenever the people of God abandon the command entrusted to them. Just as Adam turned from the voice of his Father, the church has turned from the voice of her Lord. Jesus did not leave us confused about our mission. He spoke with the same clarity the Father spoke in Eden: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations… teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you.” (Matthew 28:19–20) This was not a suggestion. It was not an optional ministry track. It was the singular mandate of the church — to go, to teach, to form, to raise, to father, to disciple, to bring the lost into the household of God.

But when the church ceased to go, the world ceased to rise. When the church stopped teaching His ways, the world forgot His ways. When the church abandoned discipleship, the world abandoned discipline. When the church stopped raising sons and daughters, the world produced wanderers and orphans. And when the church withdrew from its mission, society withdrew from its foundation.

The world did not become fatherless because the world rejected God; the world became fatherless because the church stopped revealing the Father. Darkness did not grow stronger; the light grew dimmer. And the wound that opened in Eden — the wound of disobedience, abandonment, and fractured fatherhood — continues to bleed through every generation until the people of God return to the command they left.

A Personal Witness: Fatherless in Life, Unformed in Church

I grew up fatherless, so I know the ache firsthand. Losing a father to death breaks your heart; losing one to abandonment breaks your identity. The sense of being unwanted, the guilt of thinking you somehow caused it, the feeling of being unloved — these are wounds that run deep. That kind of absence shapes you in ways only the fatherless truly understand, and it’s why this conversation matters so much to me.

The Result: A Generation Marked by Spiritual Instability

The consequences of this failure are visible across the modern church. When believers are not spiritually formed, they often remain unstable—sincere but easily swayed, active but not anchored, passionate but not deeply rooted. A church that does not know how to raise people into maturity will inevitably create dependence where there should be growth, repetition where there should be fruit, and exhaustion where there should be inheritance.

This is not an indictment of wounded believers; it is an indictment of insufficient formation. People do not become spiritually stunted because they lack value. They become spiritually stunted because too many churches have learned how to gather crowds without learning how to raise families.

Teach Them Diligently

From the beginning, God placed the responsibility of spiritual formation not on strangers, institutions, or hired professionals, but on parents — father and mother together. The command was unmistakable: “These words which I command you this day shall be in your heart; and you shall teach them diligently unto your children…” (Deuteronomy 6:6–7). The home was meant to be the first sanctuary, the table the first classroom, the parents the first instructors, and the daily rhythms of life the curriculum through which the knowledge of God was passed from one generation to the next. When that responsibility is abandoned, no amount of preaching, programming, or public education can replace what God entrusted to fathers and mothers. And just as Adam’s abdication fractured the first family, every generation that neglects this command repeats the same pattern of drift, disorder, and spiritual orphanhood.

The Call: Who Among You Will Rise?

Father’s Day therefore becomes more than a date on the calendar. It becomes a summons to spiritual responsibility. The prophetic weight of Scripture presses the question into the present: “Who is among you that feareth the Lord?” [Isaiah 50:10]

And again: “Who is there even among you that would shut the doors for nought?” [Malachi 1:10]

And again, in a moment of national crisis: “Who is on the Lord’s side?” [Exodus 32:26]

Those questions do not ask first about credentials, platforms, titles, or visibility. They ask about reverence, obedience, courage, and willingness. Who will bear the Father’s heart toward the overlooked? Who will choose the hidden labor of discipleship over the public performance of leadership? Who will rise not merely to hold authority, but to shoulder responsibility for the spiritual well-being of others?

The Restoration the Church Needs

If the church is to recover depth, it must recover formation. That recovery will require more than better programming, sharper branding, or louder rhetoric. It will require leaders who understand that ministry is not only about attracting attention but about cultivating people—patiently, relationally, and over time.

In practical terms, that means restoring the neglected work of discipleship, correction, mentoring, and sending. It means recovering a church culture in which believers are not merely recruited to fill needs but raised to carry responsibility. It means valuing presence as much as performance, maturity as much as momentum, and character as much as gifting.

Where such restoration begins, the effects are unmistakable. People grow. Callings clarify. Service deepens into stewardship. The lonely find belonging. The immature become steady. The wounded are not merely used; they are healed, strengthened, and prepared to strengthen others in turn.

Conclusion: Father’s Day as a Summons

Father’s Day is indeed a celebration, but in a generation marked by fracture, it must become far more than a moment of sentiment. It must become a summons — a call back to the holy weight of fatherhood, both natural and spiritual. It is a reminder that God has never abandoned His design for men, nor His intention for His church to be a household where sons and daughters are not merely welcomed but formed, not merely gathered but grown, not merely counted but cultivated.

The need before us is not theoretical. It is urgent. The wounds are not abstract. They are lived in real homes, carried in real hearts, and visible in the instability of a generation searching for anchors it never received. Yet the grace of God remains as steady as ever, for “a father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in His holy habitation; He sets the lonely in families” (Psalm 68:5–6). He has not changed His nature, nor withdrawn His promise to build His people into a living household of belonging, identity, and purpose.

The task before the church is not to imitate the culture’s sentimentality, nor to retreat into the safety of its own walls, but to recover the courage to embody spiritual responsibility — to teach, to form, to disciple, to correct, to nurture, to raise, and to love with the truth and tenderness of the Father Himself. This is not the work of a moment; it is the calling of a lifetime.

And so the question stands before us with the same searching clarity it carried in the days of Isaiah, when the Lord asked, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for Us?” (Isaiah 6:8). It is the question that still separates sentiment from sacrifice, comfort from calling, and spectators from fathers.

Who among us will rise — not for recognition, but for responsibility; not for platform, but for people; not merely to lead, but to father; not merely to speak, but to form; not merely to gather, but to raise sons and daughters who know their Father and walk in His ways?

The evidence has been presented; the summons has been issued …I heard the voice of the Lord, saying, Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then said I, Here am I; send me.” (Isaiah 6:8)

Silhouettes of people watching a burning city while a person holds an ancient scroll

Something Greater Than Sunday Service

Allen Frederick Leave a comment
Silhouettes of people watching a burning city while a person holds an ancient scroll

The Unsettling Claim We Still Ignore

There is someone greater than Sunday service. Someone greater than church attendance. Someone greater than scriptural literacy. And Jesus names Him plainly in Matthew 12.

When the Pharisees accused His disciples of breaking Sabbath law, Jesus responded with a declaration that shook the foundations of their religious system: “Something greater than the temple is here” (Matthew 12:6). He followed it with Hosea’s ancient rebuke, “I desire mercy, and not sacrifice” (Hosea 6:6), and then concluded with a claim only God could make: “The Son of Man is lord of the Sabbath” (Matthew 12:8).

They were not irreligious men. They were not casual about Scripture. They were not indifferent to holiness. And yet they were the ones who missed Him.

When the System Overshadows the Savior

The Pharisees had allowed the system to eclipse the Savior. They guarded the Sabbath with precision, but ignored the Lord of the Sabbath standing in their grainfield. They revered the temple, but rejected the One greater than the temple walking in their midst. They knew the Scriptures, but could not recognize the Author when He spoke.

Jesus reminded them of David eating the consecrated bread (1 Samuel 21:1–6), and of the priests who ***“profane the Sabbath and are guiltless” (*Matthew 12:5). In other words: the Law itself makes room for mercy — if you read it with God’s heart.

Modern church culture is not far behind. We have built an ecosystem around attendance, programming, and performance. We measure spiritual vitality by how full the sanctuary is, how polished the service feels, and how many verses we can quote.

But attendance is not intimacy.
Literacy is not maturity.
Activity is not a transformation.

And none of these guarantees that we are walking with Christ.

The Danger of Religion Without Mercy

Jesus’ rebuke echoes the prophets. Isaiah warned of people who “draw near with their mouth… while their hearts are far from Me” (Isaiah 29:13). Micah asked, “Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams?” and answered with God’s requirement: to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly (Micah 6:8).

The Pharisees could spot a broken rule but not a broken person. They could parse the law but not perceive the Lawgiver. They could defend the temple but not discern the presence of God.

Jesus wasn’t condemning their devotion — He was exposing their distortion.
The Sabbath was never meant to be a cage.
The temple was never meant to be a monument to human correctness.
Scripture was never meant to be a weapon used to condemn the guiltless.

All of it pointed to Christ, and all of it finds its fulfillment in Him.

The Subtle Substitutes We Still Choose

This is why His words still matter. Something greater than the temple is here. Something greater than our buildings, our services, our ministries, and our rhythms is here.

And if we are not careful, we will repeat the same mistake: mistaking proximity to religious activity for proximity to Jesus Himself.

Jesus warned of this very danger: “You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have life… yet you refuse to come to Me” (John 5:39–40).

It is entirely possible to be faithful to the schedule and unfaithful to the Savior.
Present in the sanctuary and absent in the Spirit.
Knowledgeable of the text and untouched by the Truth.

Jesus is not calling us away from the church but back to its center.
Not away from Scripture but into its purpose.
Not away from worship but into its heart.

The point has never been the temple, the ritual, or the rule.
The point has always been Him.

The Question That Still Confronts Us

And so the question lingers, as sharp now as it was in that grainfield:

Are we guarding the rules or walking with the Ruler?
Are we attending services or attending Christ?
Are we reading Scripture or being shaped by it?
Are we practicing religion or extending mercy?

Something greater than Sunday service is here.
Something greater than our routines and rhythms is here.
Something greater than our best attempts at holiness is here.

His name is Jesus — and He is still inviting His people to recognize Him.

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.

The Diaper, The Drapes, and The Temple

Allen Frederick Leave a comment
WHY COSMETIC CHRISTIANITY CANNOT PRODUCE SPIRITUAL MATURITY

The Nature Problem Beneath the Diaper

There comes a moment when God refuses to indulge surface‑level solutions. There comes a moment when He stops blessing the diaper change, the drape change, the pastor change, or the program change. There comes a moment when He exposes the truth that the problem is not the diaper, not the drapes, not the leadership, not the music, not the branding, and not the building. The problem is the nature. And until the nature changes, nothing else will.

Every parent understands this instinctively. You can change a diaper, but you cannot change the baby’s nature by changing the diaper. The diaper is not the issue. The mess is not the issue. The nature is the issue. And until the nature changes, the cycle continues. Paul confronted this same reality when he wrote, “I… could not speak to you as spiritual people, but as to babes in Christ… for you are still carnal.” [1 Corinthians 3:1–3] Babies do what babies do. Immature believers do what immature believers do. Churches that refuse to grow up do what churches that refuse to grow up do. Changing the diaper does not change the nature, and changing the pastor does not change the congregation.

Decrease Before Increase

John the Baptist understood this when he declared, “He must increase, but I must decrease.” [John 3:30] Decrease is not cosmetic. Decrease is not decorative. Decrease is demolition. Something must die for Christ to rise. But churchianity wants increase without decrease, maturity without surrender, growth without breaking, and new wine without new wineskins. Jesus made it clear that this is impossible when He said, “No one puts new wine into old wineskins… the wineskins burst.” [Mark 2:22] The wineskin must change. The nature must change. The structure must change. Otherwise, the mess continues.

Drapes Cannot Fix a Cracked House

This is why changing the drapes never fixes the house. Drapes are safe. Drapes are pretty. Drapes make the room look refreshed without touching the foundation. But drapes do not repair cracked walls, rotting beams, or sinking footers. Drapes only hide what the light would expose. Jesus confronted this exact spirit when He declared, “You are like whitened sepulchers, which indeed appear beautiful outwardly, but within are full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanness.” [Matthew 23:27] That is not gentle language. That is not soft correction. That is not a suggestion. That is a verdict.

Churchianity loves the outside of the tomb. Churchianity loves the drapes. Churchianity loves the appearance of renewal without the cost of repentance. But drapes block the sunlight, hide the flaws, and create the illusion of change without the reality of transformation.

Hard Ground Cannot Receive Seed

Yet even this does not reach the root of the issue. The deeper problem is that churchianity has become hard ground. God spoke through Hosea saying, “Break up your fallow ground, for it is time to seek the Lord.” [Hosea 10:12] Fallow ground is unbroken ground. It is rigid, resistant, and unresponsive. You cannot plant new seed in hard soil. You cannot expect harvest from ground that refuses to be torn open.

This is the tragedy of churchianity: it keeps changing pastors, but it never breaks the ground. Unless a pastor carries a strong prophetic anointing capable of breaking through the hardness of hearts, nothing changes. The soil remains untouched, and untouched soil cannot receive seed.

Jesus explained this plainly in the parable of the sower. Some seed falls by the wayside, and “the birds came and devoured them.” [Matthew 13:4] Some falls on rocky ground where it cannot take root. Some falls among thorns that choke it. Only the seed that falls into good soil produces fruit. Churchianity has become the wayside, the rocky ground, and the thorn patch. It has become rigid, resistant, and immovable. The Spirit tries to move, and churchianity quenches Him.

The Temple Was Not Meant to Be Cleaned—It Was Meant to Fall

This is why Jesus did not come to clean the Temple. He did not come to update the Temple. He did not come to modernize the Temple. He came to end it. When He said, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up,” [John 2:19], He was not speaking of renovation. He was speaking of replacement.

The Temple represented a system of access, a system of hierarchy, a system of sacrifice, and a system of separation. Jesus came to fulfill it, finish it, and replace it with Himself. The Temple had to fall because the system could not be cleaned — it had to be crucified.

Likewise, the modern church cannot be revived by cosmetic changes. It cannot be renewed by diaper changes. It cannot be transformed by drapes. It cannot be awakened by leadership swaps. It must be broken. It must be decreased. It must be torn down to the studs so Christ can be built up. Ecclesiastes declares, “A time to break down, and a time to build up.” [Ecclesiastes 3:3] Break down comes first. Build up comes second. This is the order of God.

Old Wineskins Cannot Hold New Wine

Jesus did not say, “Patch the wineskin.” He did not say, “Polish the wineskin.” He did not say, “Rebrand the wineskin.” He said the wineskin must be new. New wine expands, stretches, and transforms. Old wineskins resist, crack, and burst. Churchianity keeps trying to pour revival into rigid structures, to pour Christ into systems that refuse to decrease, and to pour new wine into old wineskins. And then it wonders why everything bursts.

Christ-Adjacent Christianity Cannot Be Transformed

This message is not for the Body of Christ. The Body hears and responds. The Body grows and matures. The Body decreases so Christ increases. This message is for the Christ‑adjacent — those close enough to see Him, not close enough to touch Him, and too far away to be touched by Him.

These are the ones who love the drapes, not the demolition; the diaper change, not the nature change; the Temple, not the tearing down; the wineskin, not the wine; the hard ground, not the breaking. They want Christ added, not Christ enthroned. They want Christ referenced, not Christ obeyed. They want Christ near, not Christ in them.

The Final Word: Break, Decrease, Surrender

Here is the truth at the center of all of this: Christ cannot increase where the old refuses to decrease. Christ cannot rise where the structure refuses to fall. Christ cannot fill what refuses to be emptied. Christ cannot plant where the ground refuses to break.

You can change the diaper, but unless the nature changes, the mess continues. You can change the drapes, but unless the structure changes, the cracks remain. You can change the pastor, but unless the people change, the church remains infantile. You can scatter seed, but unless the soil is broken, nothing grows.

There is a time to tear down. There is a time to uproot. There is a time to break the wineskin. There is a time to destroy the Temple. There is a time to plow the ground. And that time is now.

This has been a View From the Nest. And that is the way I see it. What say you?
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