Police cars were positioned at every intersection, ready to move into position and block off the traffic on command. They were awaiting a hearse bearing the flag draped coffin of a fallen warrior on his return from an unpronounceable battlefield located in a foreign country halfway around the world.

The feeling that overwhelmed me at that moment was one I had experienced only once before almost 18 years ago, as the small navy skiff pulled up and I stepped out onto the U. S. S. Arizona Memorial in Pearl Harbor. Now, like then, I was overcome, almost choking on the surge of raw emotions. Tears filled my eyes, and for a moment I couldn’t get my breath, as waves of grief washed over me and I struggled to keep my truck on the road. As quickly as it had welled up it was gone, and a peace descended marked by a deep and distinct sense of gratitude, pride, and humility.

I am grateful for the men and women who have and are serving this country. Everything I enjoy on a daily basis has been purchased by their sacrifice. That selfless attitude I’ve seen expressed as mommas and daddies kissed their sons and daughters goodbye and watched as these brave soldiers go off to war elicits a deep sense of pride in the heritage of sacrifice woven into the very fabric of my country. And…I am humbled that any person would willingly put their life on the line so that I might enjoy the abundance and joy of freedom. On days like today, its staggering cost is a weighty reality. Freedom is never free, and its fee is eternal vigilance and the sacrifice of blood.

No feeble word of human tongue can lessen the grief or pain of this family. Only the Holy Spirit’s intimate ministry of healing comfort, the love and support of family, church, and friends, and the passing of time will bring solace to the pain they are experiencing. Though one thing is evident by what I witnessed today—this precious family will not suffer alone. This community has joined them with their prayers, love, and support.

I was struck by the sincere and simple ways the people of Brandon honored Staff Sgt. Jason Rogers along the road today. Those solemn resolute postures, the crisp salutes, the gentle waves, the fluttering flags, and the tear-filled faces all communicated the same message: “Thank you!” There are moments in life when the silence speaks far more than any words can ever say. Today its shout echoed its gratitude for a fallen son of Mississippi—a hero who has paid the ultimate price. Semper Fi!

Humility for most of us is like catching a fistful of wind or a handful of water. Once we’re convinced we have achieved it we find it has vanished through our fingers. The reason is simple: humility is not something you add to your collection of achievements, rather it is a choice you make—moment by moment—in that painful process of dying to yourself. We enter this world selfish, self-centered, and self-consumed. All we think about as infants is what we want. Truth is, we could care less about the rest of the little Johnnies and Jennies scattered around us. If you doubt this, visit a nursery or pre-school and quietly observe the little human inhabitants that populate it. No one teaches us to grab for what we want or scream for that holy grail of someone’s personal attention—we are born with that defective DNA. It’s a gift from the original inhabitants of the Garden. Sadly, we carry that with us as we mature emotionally, as well as spiritually. This terrible tendency does not miraculously evaporate just because Christ comes to live in us. We have to kill it; and believe me, its death will be a bloody one.

Humility is hard to define, but we all know it when we see it. Its presence refreshes us like water on the parched lips of a thirsty soul. Its encouragement pushes us to reach for more than we ever thought possible. Its validation empowers us to be everything God intended. Humility has a way of bringing forth the best of what we were created to be. It is a catalyst for real life—the quality and nature of that life Jesus died and arose to impart to us.

No man or woman is more like Jesus than in those moments when humility guides their actions and attitudes. It is cultivated, not acquired, through the seasons of our life as we willingly exchange what we desperately crave for what Jesus longs to give. As we surrender those areas of our will to His will, His kingdom comes in our lives and humility takes root and produces the sweet fruit of selfless service. Selfless simply means less of me and more of Him.

Perhaps that is the ultimate definition of humility—“me” dies and He lives in and through me. Perhaps it would do us all good to remember that if we confess Christ as Savior and Lord, it means we were crucified with Christ. For me that means I died the day Christ came to live in me. The goal of crucifixion was death, and as far as I know, not one person ever climbed down from a cross. I no longer have a right to what I want or what I need. Rather, Christ is set free to do in and through me whatever He wills because I am dead and the dead offer no resistance.

A life marked by humility has an aroma that attracts both the dying and the desperate and offers a quality and quantity of life that can be found in no other place. To be a person of no reputation allows the reputation of the risen and living Lord to be lived out in a vibrancy of color that nothing else in creation can rival.

The first step to humility is the transfer of personal value. That is, everyone else must become more important than we think we are. That, my friend, is a bloody decision to embrace death. If you think not—just try it!

He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. And His winnowing fork is in His hand to thoroughly clear His threshing floor, to gather the wheat to His barn… (Luke 3:16-17)

I am a creature of habit. I like things to stay where I put them and routines to be, well…routine. It gives me an exhilaratingly false sense of control in an otherwise out of control existence. Change bothers me and I adapt at a begrudging snail’s pace. If evolution were true my picture would be front and center in the dictionary alongside eight track tapes, leisure suits, and pet rocks. For some reason I have convinced myself that everything is all right with me and if that’s so then the way I do things must be alright with God. Now I know that concept is far from true yet I clench my fists and hold on like a city under siege. If confession really is good for the soul, it would probably do you good to join me at the altar. We are legion, but God has a recipe for this faulty belief system. I call it God’s threshing floor.

The threshing floor is a metaphor for God’s workshop. Here the accumulation of life’s trash is removed by God to reveal the treasure He has sown in us. Like a grain farmer, God intends to get His investment back, plus interest. The threshing floor is where that fruitful crop (you and me) becomes a useful commodity. We are fruitful if Christ lives within us, but not all of us are useful to the kingdom in our current condition. A transformation must occur.

There are few things in creation more beautiful than a field of golden wheat at harvest time. It’s wonderful to look at, but worthless for human consumption. That wheat must take a journey to the threshing floor where it will be broken and crushed until the wheat grain is released. Often oxen were used to thresh the wheat or barley. Their sharp hooves pressed the wheat stalks against the stony surface and over time the grain was set free.

Perhaps you find yourself in a rut from time to time as I do. Ruts are nothing more than graves with the ends kicked out. God hates ruts and will often use His threshing floor to rescue us from that habit-filled grave. All of us have had those moments when we awaken to find our worship of, intimacy with, obedience to, or faithfulness in God a bit less than exciting and certainly not fulfilling. All of us have stalled at this address, and if you find yourself there right now, you may have a trip to the threshing floor in your future.

It occurs when we get comfortable. It is so easy to focus our attention on what people see (our exterior) rather than on the things God gazes into (our interior). When this happens, we resemble wheat far more than we care to admit. A sheaf (bundle) of wheat is mostly fluff with a small amount of grain. That description probably bothers you as much as it bothers me, but it’s true. When it comes to our faith walk with Jesus it is often more chaff than grain. God is out to change that.

Through times of testing, hardship, and trial, God threshes us. He never does it to destroy, only to bring the release of our destiny hidden deep within each of us. His desire is to liberate us from all that chaff to become living, breathing facsimiles of His Son and our Savior, Jesus Christ. The threshing floor releases the Christ in us to live through us, but you and I must be broken before it will happen on a consistent basis.

The fruitful wheat of the field must go through a process of transformation before it becomes bread on the table. Bread is useful to hungry people. Like wheat, God’s desire is to transform all of us into living examples of the Bread of Life. For this to happen, we must all visit God’s threshing floor from time to time, so that we might become useful, not just fruitful.

All around me swirls a teeming mass of overwhelming need…but I shall not want.

The faces of war—earthquakes—tsunami—famine—disease melt my mind…but He makes me to lie down in green pastures.

The noise is deafening and the demands never end…but He leads me beside still waters.

Rush here—rush there—do this—do that—I’m totally exhausted…but He restores my soul.

My eyes and ears are assaulted by perversion and indecency at every turn…but He guides me in the paths of righteousness.

All cry out for popularity and demand their own way…but for His name’s sake.

Death and darkness shout their claim of victory…but even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

Evil is loosed and terror stalks the streets…but I fear no evil.

Loneliness and emptiness poison the masses with despair…but You are with me.

There is little peace and lots of pain…but Your rod and Your staff—they comfort me.

The opposition is overwhelming and their attacks withering…but You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

I am wounded, worn out and desperately want to quit…but You have anointed my head with oil.

Overwhelmed and helpless—I am pursued by the dark hordes of hopelessness…but surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life.

Some days God…You seem a million miles away…but I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Many believers are more concerned about the prayers God seems not to have answered than the multiple ones He has. It is very easy to become a spoiled spiritual brat. No one likes to be around a child that cries, complains, and throws a tantrum over a specific toy he did not receive, while sitting among a host of bright shiny new ones. Tragically, this is how most of God’s kids act. They sit, whine, complain, and are more concerned with what they seems to lack than the spiritual abundance piled in heaps all around them. Their wants have blinded them to the grace-filled provisions that God has so graciously provided. “Thank you” has quickly become a trite little phrase found in worship songs but not echoed out of the hearts of grateful children.

Thoughts are the fruit of the heart and mind. Thoughts produce words, and words communicate the depths of one’s heart and mind. Therefore, the fruit of the lips reveals a person’s heart. A tree that produces no fruit is worthless and takes up space and nourishment that could be given to a more productive tree. So, not to belabor the question but: What kind of tree are you? You see, giving thanks is ultimately a heart issue.

“Thanks” is not something you say occasionally when you get what you want. Thanksgiving is not a day you celebrate once a year either. The act of giving thanks is a sacrificial lifestyle all of us must continually walk in. Your level of gratitude reveals your grasp on the tremendous price Christ was required to pay for your sins. For many, God has become a vending machine where one deposits the counterfeit spiritual currency of money, effort, activities, or time, and then waits expecting Him to spit out your spiritual beverage of choice. In reality, that does not, cannot, and will not happen. Sadly many are sitting like spoiled brats in the midst of heaps of blessings, but seeing what they do not have, while anxiously longing for only what they want.

How arrogant! How presumptuous! How ignorant! It is amazing that a creature would say to the Creator, “Give me what I want or I will hold my breath till I turn blue!” Lack of oxygen in the natural kills brain cells, renders the body unable to function, and eventually leads to death. Yet, a life of thanksgiving is like breathing pure spiritual oxygen. A lack of it over a long period of time will weaken and kill your ability to grow in your relationship with God, eventually turning you into a weak, anemic, bawling brat, who resembles the god of this world instead of Jesus. I know those are tough words, but they are words of sober truth just the same.

It may be time to check your output of praise and thanksgiving. Is it continual and sacrificial? That is, does it consistently cost you anything? The words of King David ring with a clarion call every believer should heed when it comes to giving thanks: “…I will not offer a sacrifice to the LORD my God which cost me nothing” (2 Sam. 24:24). Lack of consistency and cost ultimately reveal one’s lack of value in God’s indescribable gift—Jesus Christ. Are you throwing a tantrum surrounded by mountains of blessing, or are you wildly proclaiming the glories of your God? The fruit of your lips will proclaim the truth you really believe.

Often the prophet would have a vision in an ecstatic state produced by the Holy Spirit. At other times the prophet would have a night vision or perhaps what we might term a “divinely inspired dream.” Both types of visions have numerous examples in the books of Ezekiel and Zechariah. The prophet witnessed the vision, and he or she would prophesy the vision to the people. To prophesy in its basic form means to hear a word from God and then speak it to the people. This was and is God’s way of sharing His secrets with that faithful remnant of His people who are listening.

The interesting thing about God is that if someone refuses to listen God does not waste His time or efforts sharing His secrets with that person. Secrets are shared between friends, not simple acquaintances. You would not share your deepest secrets with someone you did not know and so too, God does not share His secret counsel or His visions with those who have little or no relationship with Him.

You might be thinking, what does all this have to do with me? Everything! It has everything to do with you. Are you hearing the present tense voice of God from time to time? Are you experiencing dreams and visions in which God is sharing His secrets with you? The apostle Peter on the Day of Pentecost declared that this would be the norm—one of the distinguishing marks—of His people called the Church: “In the last days God said I will pour out My Spirit upon all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, and your young men will see visions, and your old men will dream dreams. In those days I will pour out My Spirit upon all My servants, men and women alike, and they will prophesy” (Acts 2:17-18). We live in the last days and the word “all” means “all kinds of people.”

The key to hearing God or seeing the vision He wants to communicate is your willingness to be humble in faith, while you listen, watch, and wait. If you will not listen, you will not hear. If you will not open the eyes of your spirit, you certainly will not see the secrets of the Lord as He reveals them. The problem therefore rests on the receivers rather than the Sender—it is us, not Him.

But…some who read this have heard God speak, and they have seen a secret revealed through a vision or word. God does not reveal secrets simply to impress you with what He knows. He reveals His hidden counsel to those who are listening so that they can communicate it to those who are not listening. God loves the spiritually deaf and hard of hearing as much as He loves you or me. Your job is to listen and then speak what you hear or see. Don’t get discouraged at the unconcern or unwillingness of others to pay attention; your job is not to make people listen, but to speak what God is saying, and those who are listening will hear. Be encouraged—God’s vision will be fulfilled right on time.

“For the vision is yet for the appointed time; it hastens toward the goal, and it will not fail. Though it tarries, wait for it; for it will certainly come, it will not delay” (Habakkuk 2:3).

Like a kid opening a Christmas present, he slowly surveyed the crowded interior of the cab, the hiding place of all things important to his father.  In the floorboard, just below the steering wheel, sat an old one gallon galvanized bucket filled with tools. For a moment, his mind raced back to those precious moments where he had watched his father’s rough tanned hands skillfully pick up, work with, and return each tool back to that old silver bucket, as he performed the needed repair. His father’s prized tools still stood in their place awaiting the hands of their master.

Reaching slowly to remove that cherished treasure from the floorboard, he was driven back in utter shock with a scream of surprise; for there under the old bucket lay a large black snake. Equally surprised the snake began to flip and flop and do all that it could to get away. The battle was on but eventually bruised and beaten, the snake managed to escape up into the wires and darkness just behind the dashboard of the old ‘78 Chevy.

Out of breath and utterly frustrated, the young man took a few moments to compose himself as he rested his hands on his knees. The dilemma was unimaginable—he had to be at an appointment and this truck—the truck with the snake in it—was his only transportation home. He looked—he banged—he yelled—he banged some more, but all to no avail. The snake would not come out from the security of its hiding place. Faced with no other option, he cranked the old truck, and with the door open drove slowly down the winding drive with one eye on the road and one eye on the floorboard.

Each of us has a journey to make, an appointment to keep, and an enemy hidden somewhere in our vehicle. The Father has left us directions, given us the invitation, and made all the arrangements. But…ultimately you must decide how you will drive the truck. Will you fix both your eyes on this earth, worried by its dangers or overwhelmed by its delights? Or will you fix one eye on the floor alert for the danger and one eye on the heavens anxiously awaiting the glorious return of the Savior?

How you make the journey depends on your clear memories of the Father’s clear instructions and the tedious lessons you’ve learned with His tools. The snake fears the hammer of God’s Word, for if it is used accurately his head can and will be crushed. He knows this, and will stay concealed for a long, long time awaiting just the right opportunity to spring his attack. Keep your hand on the hammer, your foot on the gas, one eye on the floor, and one eye toward the heavens. Drive the speed limit and don’t let famine or feasting, freedom or fear deter you from your destination. And above all else, remember these amazing words: “When everything is ready, I will come and get you…” (John 14:3a). It’s the promise of the Son, not the perceived threat of the serpent that will keep us in the Father’s truck and headed for home.

“Attention! We are going into lockdown! No one will be allowed to leave the building by order of the fire department! A gas leak has been discovered across the street and due to the imminent danger no one will be allowed to leave the building!” A few moments later, a more forceful masculine voice dittoed what the soft feminine voice had initially stated. (Someone probably attempted an escape—one of the pastors perhaps?)

The first thought that swirled through my mind was not the danger of an explosion or the safety of those working to fix it. My initial thought was, “It’s 11:55! I’m starving to death! I can’t believe I’m going to be late for lunch!” I know that’s selfish but I feel confident that’s what most of my associates were thinking.

The good news is the lock down lasted about forty minutes until the gas supply could be shut off. There were no explosions or horrible injuries; just some frustrated shoppers at the Piggly Wiggly and an irate diner or two at the local Chinese restaurant who missed getting their fortune cookies during the forced evacuation. The bad news is God decided to use it as a teaching point in my journey to be like Christ. I call these instructional lessons prophetic parables—moments where God takes a real-life situation and applies it prophetically to a person specifically or a group of people corporately. In this case it was the latter and I knew it would probably leave a mark.

For many years now, the body of Christ in North America—the church (not the building that houses the people who compose the body that represents Christ)—has been in a state of lockdown. We look like cities under siege—gates locked, stocked with supplies, with congregations frozen in fear of the supposed threat lying an inch or so past the borders of our orthodox campuses. We either fear this world that is our calling or we have no concern for it. Either way, the eternal result is the same.

Our local congregations are filled with spiritual gluttons whose only concern is the next milk of the month teaching or that perfectly seared sermonic cut of steak hand-cooked to order by their very own personal chef—I mean pastor. We have become cafeteria line Christians—picking and choosing from a smorgasbord of what we like, dislike, agree, or disagree with. We take what we want and feast on it with little regard for what God is saying or those He desires to save who are alone, starving, and headed to hell.

That lockdown has filled the church with selfishness rather than sacrifice. Instead of becoming wells of living water, we have become stagnant cisterns collecting the soiled runoff of Dr. So-and-So’s theological fertilizer. The church of Acts was an explosion looking to go off at any moment. If you doubt that just read a few chapters and look at the impact of the Gospel’s message on their culture. They were fueled by a passion to take the message to the masses. In three hundred years they changed the world turning it upside down. That’s what explosions do.

Sadly, the church is no longer in danger of exploding, but rather imploding from a pressurized build-up of hot air created by decaying piles of eloquent language fueled by an empty love.

Tragically, many are content with the status quo. Their endless song is, “Don’t rock the boat baby.” They are satisfied having their egos massaged and their ears tickled, while being told every move to make and the backstage spot where they must stand. These slaves will follow the crowd because that’s what slaves have been taught to do. They will complain about enduring the monotony of a past that can produce no future, but they will do nothing but complain, as they trudge mindlessly along. Most will never break rank. That is why you must now decide who you will follow. Your moment at the crossroads is approaching as the endless column ahead of you bears to the right or left. What will you do?

Freedom means throwing off the shackles of a system and embracing a Savior who really has paid your debts in full and now offers a walk of relationship in a garden setting similar to the one our ancient ancestors trashed. It means you can intimately hear His voice and be sure He hears yours. It means His endless embrace is an eternal expression of the extravagant pleasure He finds in you. It means you don’t just hear about it every Sunday morning for an hour or so, but you experience it fully every moment of every day for the rest of your eternal life.

Freedom means He longs for your presence as much as you do His. It is the emotions of your spirit set free to host His Spirit in the very depths of your personal expression of His image and likeness. This is what it means to be alive—to breathe the same breath God breathed into Adam. Your spiritual oxygen is not elemental in composition, but experiential in Christ. Life is no longer just a biological expression, but now can be lived out as a spiritual explosion.

Freedom is the authority—a delegated permission—to be everything Jesus bought and paid for. It is also the power—the ability to exercise the authority—to bring order out of chaos, health into sickness, restoration to brokenness, and light into darkness. It is the ability and permission to do the things that Jesus did and the greater things He promised. It means acting as His ambassador—standing in His place speaking with His voice and accomplishing His work as though He was standing there. Freedom is allowing Him to live His life through you. This is the real secret of being a blue blood. You no longer live, but Christ lives in you. The Son of God has put you on like a glove and now brings to life the potent animation of His omnipotence through you on whatever stands in rebellious opposition to His will.

This kind of freedom is worth the price of another reformation or a new revolution. Someone must say, “Enough!” Someone must take up the banner of the Resurrection—not the resuscitation of a diseased and dying religious system—but the rising from the dead of a people filled and formed by the same Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead. A people who will live, eat, breathe, dream, and want nothing but Jesus.

If this seems a bit too radical or revolutionary for your spiritual refinement, then keep step with the rhythmic march of your fellow slaves, and at the intersection head right or left to the brick pits of your own particular Pharaoh. It won’t be long until the brick molds are passed out and you can resume turning mud into bricks for the construction of that tower you’ve been assured will take you to heaven.

As for me, I am not a brick-maker, nor the son of a brick-maker. The flesh of my back will no longer bear the lash nor will my feet stand paralyzed in the stinking mud of that sacred sewer. I will not bend to the religious demands of a counterfeit, nor bow my knee in submission to a demagogue, a demigod, or a man who thinks he is a god. I will no longer remain silent as the very images of God all around me are destroyed by slavery. I will shout the truth until my voice is heard and heeded here, hushed by hell, or hailed in heaven. I am a son of the Most High God, purchased by the blood of the Son of God, and filled with the very Spirit of God. I am baptized for battle, empowered by His victory, and ready to sound the alarm and answer the call of my King. I am a child of royalty—a son of the Sovereign—a prince of the realm. I am a blue blood.