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.