Monthly Archives: May 2025

Church and Culture: The Great Divide

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Over the years in ministry, through seasons of change and decades of serving in the calling, I’ve watched the landscape of the Church shift—again and again. New strategies rise, new expressions emerge, and cultural waves crash at the gates of the Body of Christ. There is always this desire to be “relevant,” to meet the world where it is. And yet, deep within the soul of the Church is a cry to recover the DNA of the early apostolic company. What we have is not just a tension—it’s a tug-of-war.

Relevance has become a buzzword. But relevance, when not anchored in truth, requires compromise. And compromise—though subtle—is deadly. To be relevant to culture often means we must absorb part of it. To speak to modern issues, we immerse ourselves in them. To communicate faith on the level of the hearer, we water it down. I’ve watched it happen slowly, incrementally. But over time, relevance begins to redefine our values.

But here’s the truth: the Church was never called to mirror culture. It was called to confront it. The early Church did not try to “relate” to Roman rule, or blend with religious traditions, cultic practices, or distorted values of life. They were unapologetically counter-cultural. They understood the call to be in the world, but not of it—and they lived it.

What’s disturbing is how far we’ve drifted. We’ve tried to attract the world by looking like it, thinking we can rescue people from worldliness while using worldly methods. We justify our compromises as “relatable.” Social drinking, carnal environments, and a diluted holiness have all found their way into our sanctuaries. But relevance without holiness produces confusion. We’ve normalized immaturity and called it maturity because someone knows both sides. Yet many of these are still babes—stuck at salvation, never maturing into discipleship, let alone Christ-likeness.

Who let these false ideas in?

Even well-intentioned efforts, if not grounded in truth, open the door to private interpretation. Jesus never spoke in vague language. He confronted error, exposed darkness, and raised a standard that was not only high but clearly understood. His invitation wasn’t to blend in—it was to follow Him. That meant dying to self, abandoning personal wisdom, living by faith, and ministering to souls, while not making friends with the world.

Today, everything is labeled “Christian” or “church,” even when the foundational truths are absent. Maybe the issue isn’t culture invading the church—but the Church lowering her standards.

I recently found myself reflecting on the early Church’s demands: the qualifications for elders, the weight of fivefold ministry, and the expectation that saints would do the work of ministry. There was an assumption that the life of Christ within the people would be so vibrant, it would require spiritual oversight by mature elders—those who carried God’s heart.

And they weren’t living in a vacuum. Their world was far more corrupt than ours: idols at every turn, public temples to demons, open witchcraft, Baal worship, the cruelty of Rome, the celebration of depravity. And yet in the midst of it all—they stood. Separated for the work. The Church didn’t just survive—it multiplied.

They had a clear vision: manifest the Kingdom of God.
They had a clear mission: preach the gospel of the Kingdom to the ends of the earth.
They had apostolic oversight: men who set doctrine and brought what was lacking into fullness.
They had eldership in cities who preserved what the apostles had established.

And still, through every age, with all the cultural pressures, false teachings, ego-driven ministries, and shifting models—the Church, the ekklesia, stands. Bruised, stretched, and reshaped at times—but never destroyed. She is still being refined. And yes, she will become the glorious Bride. She will be the one who delivers the Kingdom to the Father. She will rise in apostolic and prophetic order. She will become the ruling, reigning ones.

This is my hope.
This is my assignment.
This is my call.

To reveal the King and His Kingdom. To unveil the mystery: Christ in you, the hope of glory.

The Wineskins of Decisions: Building for God, Not Just for Us

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I wrote this blog a few weeks ago and felt I was not to not post it until later. Now I see some posting on wineskin and feel I should post.

For decades now, there’s been a constant buzz in kingdom circles about the “wineskin” and what God desires to build in this season. There’s been talk of new dynamics, fresh structures, and groundbreaking concepts that are supposed to carry the “new wine” God is pouring out. Countless conversations, teachings, and strategies have centered on this theme for over 30 years.

But here’s what I’ve noticed: most of these discussions focus more on the wineskin itself than on the new wine meant to be inside it.

When Jesus spoke of wineskins, His audience understood the natural process. New wine required a new wineskin. The grape juice would ferment, releasing gases and creating pressure. An old, dry wineskin couldn’t stretch with this process—it would burst. The wineskin wasn’t just for fermentation; it was also for transportation. It was a portable container designed for movement and flexibility.

Through the years, I’ve heard many interpretations:

  • The wineskin is the kingdom, the wine is the ecclesia.
  • The wineskin is sonship, the wine is identity.
  • The wineskin is Jesus, the wine is the Holy Spirit.
  • The wineskin is the apostolic, the wine is the ecclesia.

At different times, I’ve embraced each of these views. Lately, I’ve been sensing the wineskin is sonship and the wine is holy community. Maybe the wineskin looks different depending on the season we’re in. There’s no shortage of speculation about Luke 5 and Jesus’ teaching on wineskins and how we would apply this for today.

One widely accepted interpretation is that new revelations won’t fit into old structures, and therefore, we need new structures. While that’s true, we often overlook the primary message Jesus was sharing: the old wineskin is the Old Covenant, and the new is the New Covenant. That’s the essential framework He was establishing.

Where we tend to get tripped up is in attempting to build a new wineskin inside an old environment—or alongside it—without recognizing that “new” means exactly that. New. Nothing of the old can really be repurposed. The conversations about new wineskins that have echoed for over 40 years haven’t materialized into visible change, perhaps because we’re still clinging to fragments of the old.

The reality staring at us is who is willing to let go of what has been in order to grab what is indeed new. Who is willing to lay everything as an offering in being able to go into what we don’t understand. It really is the ultimate faith journey.

The word “new” (in Greek) means unused, unworn, recently made, fresh, unprecedented. It describes something of a completely new nature—not just new in time, but new in kind. It hints at something miraculous and unexpected that salvation ushers in: a new heaven, a new earth, a new Jerusalem, a new name, a new song, a new creation, and yes, new wine. All of these point to God’s desires and plans, not man’s.

Here’s what I also see: the wineskins people are trying to build today are heavily influenced by the times they live in and the revelation they currently carry. This has led to many people building many wineskins for many reasons, instead of us collectively building a singular wineskin focused on the kingdom Jesus spoke of. Often, the emphasis is on creating a new structure to make ministry easier and more effective—rather than building from a kingdom covenant framework that aligns with the heart of God.

Add to that the tension of personal preference. It’s easier to default to the old wineskin because it feels familiar. It reflects past preferences, past experiences—even good ones—that we’re reluctant to let go of. But what was a productive truth in the past might not be the truth needed now.

I believe much of our pursuit has been about creating a wineskin that works for us, instead of asking what would a wineskin built solely for God look like? Could we dare to build something not centered on our convenience or efficiency, but entirely for His pleasure? What if the wineskin we’re called to build is designed to connect deeply with the next age—the eternal age?
What if it was a portal, a spiritual opening, transferring heaven to earth? A place where the frequencies of heaven resonate across all dimensions? A way of redefining and realigning. Could the wineskin be a kind of superposition—a quantum space operating simultaneously in two dimensions, waiting to be measured by the manifestation of His glory? At its simplest, the wineskin is a container—but for what? For God’s new. And if we built it for Him alone, would it even entertain men? Or would it instead draw God Himself?

In 2015, God told me to build a throne for Him in our state. I didn’t know what that meant at the time. Now, the pathway is becoming clearer. The “new” rarely seems logical or realistic. It never fits the status quo. But in contemplating what a wineskin built for God might look like, I wrote down these thoughts:

  1. It would be a place that allows the expression of the next age to form.
    An understanding of the eternal would permeate everything.
  2. It would be a place where the sounds and frequencies of heaven are heard and felt.
    Not just earthly worship, but a heavenly discourse and sound.
  3. It would be a place of spiritual flow and expression.
    Flowing in sync with God, unrestricted by time or human agendas.
  4. It would be built for God’s presence more than for man’s entertainment.
    A place not of visitation but sustained dwelling.
  5. It would be a place filled with revelation of the mysteries of God.
    A continual unveiling of God, leaving man in awe.

These would naturally result in the things we currently discuss about wineskins, but those would be the byproducts or fruit of, not the focus. The how-to’s of ministry would emerge from the wineskin itself as fruit—an effect of being inside the wineskin and becoming the wine.

What strikes me is how little conversation actually focuses on building a wineskin for God.
After all, it’s His wine, His container. We can’t build anything apart from Him. This requires us to move from ownership to stewardship—a shift that might explain why many cling to the old wineskin. The new demands we give up control.

All the ministry functions we struggle to implement would naturally flow from His presence. Needs would be met simply by standing before Him. Ministry would shift to its rightful order: Melchizedek priests ministering first to the Lord, and then into the earth’s culture.

I challenge you to reconsider your wineskin. What if you built it as a place where God would love to dwell? When He is with us, many of our issues would resolve in His presence. Let’s not confuse the wineskin with the wine. If we build for Him, the wine will come.

When Words of Encouragement Aren’t Enough: A Message to Ministry Leaders

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Every ministry leader looks for signs that the work is bearing fruit—affirmations that they’re in step with God, glimpses of spiritual maturity in those they lead, and those powerful moments when someone has a life-changing encounter with the Lord. These moments encourage us deeply. But what happens when those affirmations are absent—or worse, when they come too late?

We all need encouragement. It’s not a weakness; it’s part of how God wired us. Encouragement reminds us we’re making a difference, that something we’ve invested in is producing fruit. But there’s a danger too: when leaders begin to feed on affirmation like a drug, it breeds unhealthy motives and even codependency. I’ve seen this firsthand. A leader begins needing affirmation to feel valuable, and the people begin needing the leader to validate them—rather than seeking that identity in God. Left unchecked, this dynamic poisons a church.

In ministry, there are seasons of encouragement and seasons of silence. Most experienced leaders understand this ebb and flow. In the quiet seasons, we often draw on past affirmations or lean hard into the Lord’s presence. But sometimes, the silence stretches longer than expected. No thank-you, no fruit you can see, no sign you’re making a difference. And then—maybe finally—words of encouragement come, but they fall flat. They’re late. Out of sync. Like water offered after the thirst has already broken you down.

If you’ve been in ministry for a while, you know this feeling. You start to ask big questions: Why did I say yes to this in the first place? What did I hope would happen that never did? Have I drifted from the original vision? It’s a time of soul-level evaluation—and often a time of deep weariness. You are on a path alone. No one can help you find the way. The main thing you need is time. You can clear the schedule and speed the process or continue as is and drag things out.

What you are needing is only one thing and that is hearing directly from God—not about the ministry, but about you. This is more than just reassessing strategy. It’s about resetting your own heart. Are you still stewarding your life well? Are you carrying assignments God never asked you to pick up? Are secondary things crowding out the primary call?

One of my favorite scriptures is found in 1 Samuel 30:6. David is facing devastation—his people are speaking of stoning him, families have been taken, everything seems lost. But what does he do? It says, “David encouraged himself in the Lord.” He took the posture of a priest, put on the ephod, and sought God directly. That’s what we must do. When the encouragement of others isn’t enough, we must hear His voice afresh.

These seasons aren’t pleasant, but they’re productive. Something is being built. A deeper faith. A clearer focus. A renewed strength. Often, God uses this time to replay your story—to show you how He’s been faithful, to remind you of the strength you once carried, and to reignite the fire of your original calling.

Is it easy? Not at all. Are there distractions? Plenty. But this is a sacred moment. God is inviting you back to the foundation—not to fix everything, but to remember why you started. To rediscover that singular focus of the primary call of your life. To realign with your first love of serving, and to a simpler approach.

So, leader, if you’re in a season where encouragement feels absent or ineffective, take heart. You’re not alone. And more importantly, you’re not finished. Let this be a time of holy re-centering. Let God speak to you. That’s where the real strength comes from.