John 4:35 Do you not say, ‘There are still four months and then comes the harvest’? Behold, I say to you, lift up your eyes and look at the fields, for they are already white for harvest!
Here’s an interesting fact about American church history that you may not know. Years ago, when the first New England churches were designed, they were built with clear windows rather than the stained glass ones we see so often today — and the graveyard was usually built in the churchyard, which would normally be seen from the pulpit. Why?
It was so that the pastor could see the graveyard while he preached and be reminded of the urgency of his message! It was so he could be reminded that everyone who sat in the pews before him as he spoke, would eventually fill a place in that cemetery outside the window and ultimately have to stand before God to be judged. Can you imagine?
Back then, the first and foremost priority of the church was to bring men and women into a right relationship with the Lord. What’s happened to us that we’ve started building churches with windows you can’t see through!?
There is a harvest outside! Let’s uncloud our windows and give ourselves to the work that needs to be done! Let’s make a commitment to share the good news with someone today!
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This piercing question opens Psalm 11 like a cry from the heart in troubled times. It’s a question we ask when law and order collapse, when truth is ridiculed, and when those who do evil seem to triumph. The foundations — the principles of righteousness, justice, and truth that uphold society — are under siege. And it begs the question: What can God’s people do when everything righteous seems to be crumbling?
After one of the greatest spiritual victories in all of Scripture–calling down fire from heaven on Mount Carmel and turning the hearts of Israel back to God–Elijah finds himself blindsided by fear.
Elijah heard what no one else did — a storm was coming. Though the sky was still blue and the ground still cracked from years of drought, Elijah discerned the sound of abundance. It was a prophetic knowing, a spiritual sensitivity that saw past what was visible into what God was about to do.
When Elijah cast his cloak over Elisha in the field, it wasn’t just a symbolic act — it was a divine call. Elisha understood this and responded not with delay or excuse, but with decisive action. After asking to say goodbye to his parents, he returned, slaughtered his oxen, and used the wooden yokes as fuel for the sacrifice. Then he gave the meal to the people and walked away from everything familiar to follow the prophet Elijah.
Elijah had just come through one of the most intense seasons of his life. He had called down fire from heaven on Mount Carmel, seen the prophets of Baal defeated, and yet found himself running in fear from Jezebel, exhausted and discouraged. In the cave at Horeb, he cried out, believing he was alone and that all was lost. But it was there—in the still small voice—that God revealed His presence and His plan.
Over the weekend, the United States launched a bold operation aimed at ending Iran’s nuclear program. In the quiet of the night, unseen by human eyes, B-2 Spirit bombers initiated Operation Midnight Hammer—a precision strike designed to eliminate hidden threats before they could bring harm. With unmatched stealth, they cut through the darkness, delivering a decisive blow against danger.
Every true move of revival begins where few look for it—at the hidden brook, in the quiet place of God’s pruning. Cherith (נַחַל כְּרִית) means to cut off, to separate, to covenant. Before Elijah could stand on Mount Carmel and call down fire, he had to be separated, set apart for God’s purposes.