Tags
bible, Biblical Truth, Christian Poetry, christianity, faith, god, Inpirational, Inspirational, jesus, Royally Redeemed, theology
Poet’s Note: Dear Reader,
This poem was not written for applause or entertainment. It was born in the quiet ache of a heart tired of bright lights and shallow altars. I have watched too many beautiful services end with empty hearts, and too many gifted voices leave the altar unchanged. The Holy Spirit is stirring something deeper in this hour — a holy dissatisfaction with entertainment Christianity and a burning hunger for the real thing: biblical Christianity, marked by the weight of God’s presence, costly obedience, and fire that does not fade when the music stops. If these words stir you, do not merely admire them. Let them search you. The remnant is not a club for the “super spiritual.” It is a company of ordinary believers who have simply decided they can no longer live on sparks when they were created for the consuming fire. The question is no longer “Will God move?”
The question is now, “Will you rise?”
With trembling hands and a burning heart,
The Poet
In silence where the fireworks die,
a remnant rises, clear of eye.
No longer swayed by flashing gold,
by crowds that cheer, then leave hearts cold.
They’ve seen the sparks that blind and fade,
the empty altars where prayers are laid.
No more the smoke, the lights, the show—
We want biblical Christianity, not popular Christianity.
Not hype that swells and quickly dies,
but hunger that will sacrifice.
Not polished stages, bright and loud,
but altars built where knees are bowed.
From fleeting visits, swift and thin,
to habitation deep within—
we trade the thrill for consecration,
the crowd’s applause for God’s own habitation.
“O God, my God,” the psalmist cried,
with thirst no earthly stream supplied.
Not Sunday touch or passing flame—
but You, Lord, dwelling in our veins.
No more consumers chasing signs,
but disciples forged in holy fire.
They wait, they weep, they tarry long,
till heaven falls where they belong.
Let music cease and curtains close—
the remnant lingers, no one goes.
One Name alone will they recall:
Jesus—before, behind, through all.
This is the hour, the line is drawn.
The fire of God or fading dawn.
We want the Book, not hollow brand,
the narrow road, the blood-stained hand.
Church, arise from comfort’s grave!
The holy fire is here to claim. The remnant rises.
Choose this day whom you will serve.
Passionately Pursuing Christ 