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The Silent Tragedy: When the Word Sin Is Eradicated from a Culture by Debbie Harris

06 Saturday Jun 2026

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Dear Reader,

From the poet:

In an age that has quietly erased the word sin from its vocabulary, I offer this poem not as condemnation, but as a solemn reminder and an urgent invitation. Once we lose the honest naming of our rebellion against God and His good order, we also lose the path to true forgiveness and restoration.

May these lines stir the conscience, awaken the heart, and turn every soul toward the only One who can save us from our sins—Jesus Christ our Lord.

Will you and I be among those who still dare to call sin sin, and thereby point a broken world to the Savior?

In elder days when thunder voiced the Law

And prophets walked the flinty roads of old,

The word sin rang as iron on the soul—

A blade that clove the heart, a bell of gold

That tolled repentance ere the grave grew cold.

Now from the common tongue the word is fled,

Like some archaic curse no longer named.

The pulpits soften, courts declare it dead,

And schools instruct the young: “No soul is blamed.”

All acts are neutral flowers, self-blessed, untamed.

O tragic void! Where once the pilgrim knelt

Beneath the weight of wrong and cried for grace,

Now mirrors only flatter, conscience melts

Into a mist of “feelings,” “choice,” and “space.”

No fall remains; thus no redemption waits.

The ancient bards knew better. Homer sang

Of wrath that spoiled the host and felled the brave;

Virgil beheld the guilty shades who clang

Their chains in Tartarus, unshriven, save

By memory of trespass and the grave.

Dante, fierce Florentine, with measured tread

Descended hell’s nine circles, naming each

By sin’s true name—fraud, lust, pride, the dread

Of treason’s frozen lake. No gentle speech

Could blunt the horror; truth alone could teach.

Milton, blind but seeing, raised his song

To justify the ways of God to men,

And showed how one transgression, vast and strong,

Brought death and all our woe. Yet even then

The greater arc of mercy rose again.

But strip away the word and what remains?

A culture sleek with self, where every vice

Is rechristened “lifestyle,” “identity,” or “gains.”

No prodigal returns; no broken cries

Ascend. The temple stands, but God’s house lies

In ruins of the tongue. The heart grows coarse,

Untroubled by the stain it will not see.

Ambition swells to empire without remorse,

And cruelty wears the mask of liberty.

The final darkness falls—yet no one flees.

Restore the word, sharp as a surgeon’s knife,

That cuts the canker out before it kills.

Let sin once more awaken mortal strife

Between the soul and its rebellious will,

Till humbled knees recall the ancient skill

Of seeking pardon. Only then may rise

The triumph of the Cross that ends all pain:

Forgiveness purchased at Redemption’s price,

Where sin confessed is washed in crimson rain,

And man, once fallen, stands upright again.

Will you and I be those who call sin sin,

Thereby pointing all to the Savior strong—

Who saves lost souls from every stain within

Through Jesus Christ our Lord, the endless song

Of grace that makes the broken whole, restored.

The Herald’s Celestial Fire: An Ornate Proclamation of Scripture’s Perfection, the Godhead’s Glory, and the Urgent Call to Repentance by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

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Dear Reader,

I cannot be silent.

The same divine compulsion that seized the prophet Jeremiah still burns within the bones of every true herald of the Triune God. It is no mere emotional surge, but a sovereign ignition of the Holy Spirit — that burning fire shut up in the marrow of the soul, weary with restraint and impossible to contain. In a generation steeped in theological compromise, cultural idolatry, and a gospel diluted by human preference, the perfect, inerrant Word of our eternal Father, incarnate Son, and proceeding Spirit demands unashamed proclamation.

This is no abstract orthodoxy. It is the living tension of divine perfections: the holiness that kindles wrath against all ungodliness, the justice that demands satisfaction for treason against the Creator, and the mercy that flows from the riven side of the crucified Lamb. Here, at the cross, wrath and mercy kiss in substitutionary atonement — the Father crushing His beloved Son under the full weight of cosmic justice, so that sinners might be declared righteous by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone. The inner-rant is thus both judgment and invitation: a holy violence against the rebel heart, clothed in the tenderness that pleads, “Turn! Why will you die?”

This poem is my feeble attempt to echo that prophetic fire — not as ornament for the ear, but as a thunderclap from the sapphire throne. It weaves the inerrancy of Scripture, the sovereignty of the Godhead, the urgency of escaping the second death, and the triumphant hope of resurrection life. May it stir within you the same unresting zeal: to speak with boldness and conviction, yet always bathed in the love that sent the Son to bear the cup of wrath we deserved.

We cannot be silent. Souls hang suspended between eternal glory and eternal perdition. The Kingdom advances through voices unashamed. Repent, believe the Gospel, and join the heralds before the Day of the Lord dawns.

For the glory of the Father, the exaltation of the risen Lamb, and the powerful working of the Spirit —

The Poet

Jeremiah 20:9 (ESV)

If I say, ‘I will not mention him, or speak any more in his name,’ there is in my heart as it were a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot.

Romans 1:16 (ESV)

For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes…

In triune sapphire throne where Three shine One—

Ancient of Days enthroned on crystal sea,

The slaughtered Lamb whose wounds outshine the sun,

The rushing Wind that sets the prophet free—

Mercy awakens holy inner-tide,

A seraph’s coal upon the trembling lip,

A furnace veiled in flesh, a burning bride,

That storms the gates of death with thunderous grip.

Not silken phrases honeyed for the snake,

But living oracles, a lightning blade

That cleaves the marrow, rends the veiled heart awake,

And drags to blazing light the sins long laid.

Like Sinai’s crown of flame on trembling peak,

It thunders “Thus saith I AM!” through kings’ halls,

While mercy, robed in blood, begins to speak

And shatters rebel thrones with trumpet calls.

As Jeremiah’s bones became a blaze

No mortal vessel could contain or tame,

So mercy storms the dungeon of our days,

With courage forged in love’s eternal flame.

Conviction rolls like cherubim’s four wings,

Yet from the riven side sweet mercy streams—

A crimson river where the sinner clings,

While heaven’s justice and compassion gleams.

The flawless Word, more pure than gold refined,

More fixed than Zion’s mount or starry choir,

Upholds the wheeling galaxies aligned

And every soul beneath the Judge’s fire.

No jot shall fade, no tittle ever fall,

Though heaven and earth dissolve in final roar;

Its granite truth outlasts the siren’s call

And breaks the chains of death forevermore.

O inner fire, Ezekiel’s whirlwind throne,

A coal from off the altar’s glowing hearth,

It bursts the iron mouth, the heart of stone,

And summons corpses from the grave of wrath.

God’s wrath is holy—white, devouring light,

Not petty storm but cosmic justice pure,

Yet on the altar’s wood of darkest night

The Lamb absorbs the blaze and makes it sure.

There wrath and mercy kiss in wounds divine,

The Father’s pleasure crushing His own Son;

The Spirit seals the pardon with a sign—

The risen Lion, slaughtered, now the One.

With Peter’s voice like rushing mighty wind,

With Stephen’s countenance as angel-flame,

The herald lifts the cross through scorn and din,

That rebels might escape the wrath to come.

No terror of the crowd, no iron chain,

Can quench the love that risks eternal shame;

For every soul plucked from the second pain

Becomes a living trophy to His Name.

Thus mercy speaks—unflinching, robed in tears—

The blameless Word in whirlwind and in plea:

“Repent! Believe! The Kingdom’s gate appears!”

Flee wrath, and reign with Christ eternally.

From Dust and Frailty to the Gem-Studded Garments of Salvation: A Hymn of Divine Clothing and Holy Awe by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Pleasing God Not Man, Royally Redeemed, salvation, Thanksgiving, Triumphant

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Note to the Reader from the Poet

Dear Reader,

In the quiet tension between creaturely frailty and divine generosity, this hymn was conceived. We stand perpetually before the paradox Scripture never lets us escape: we are dust — fragile, fleeting, marked by the fractures of original and ongoing sin — and yet the same Creator who fashioned us from the ground now stoops to array that very dust in garments of celestial splendor.

The poem does not merely celebrate a theological idea; it traces a transformative arc that mirrors the gospel itself. From the scattering wind of Psalm 103:14 and the weakness confessed in 2 Corinthians 12:9, through the empowering mercy of Isaiah 40 and the jeweled bridal splendor of Isaiah 61:10, it presses toward the astonishing promise of 2 Peter 1:4 — that we might become partakers of the divine nature. Each stanza is an act of remembrance and aspiration: remembering our low estate so that we might more fully adore the height of His condescension.

The gem-studded robe is no ornamental fancy. It is the righteousness of Christ, woven on heaven’s loom, encrusted with the blood-red ruby of atonement, the sapphire depths of unfailing grace, the emerald hope of resurrection life, and the diamond fire of covenant fidelity. To wear it is to walk in holy servanthood — yoked yet free, bowed yet exalted, weak yet wielding uncreated light.

May these lines not merely be read, but prayed. Speak them slowly in your secret place. Let the weight of your own dust press you deeper into the mercy that clothes you. Let the imagery carry you past sentiment into awe — speechless, trembling, joyful awe — before the throne where the Lamb slain stands worthy.

For the God who remembers we are dust has never forgotten us. He has clothed us instead, and called us His own.

With bowed heart and lifted eyes,

The Poet

Scriptural Foundation

Psalm 103:14 – We are dust

KJV: “For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.”

NIV: “For he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.”

AMP: “For He knows our [mortal] frame; He remembers that we are [merely] dust.”

2 Corinthians 12:9 – Strength in weakness

KJV: “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

NIV: “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’”

AMP: “But He has said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you [My lovingkindness and My mercy are more than enough—always available—regardless of the situation]; for [My] power is being perfected [and is completed and shows itself most effectively] in [your] weakness.’”

Isaiah 40:29 – Power to the faint

KJV: “He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.”

NIV: “He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.”

AMP: “He gives strength to the weary, And to him who has no might He increases power.”

Isaiah 61:10 – Garments of salvation and robe of righteousness

KJV: “I will greatly rejoice in the LORD, my soul shall be joyful in my God; for he hath clothed me with the garments of salvation, he hath covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decketh himself with ornaments, and as a bride adorneth herself with her jewels.”

NIV: “I delight greatly in the LORD; my soul rejoices in my God. For he has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of his righteousness, as a bridegroom adorns his head like a priest, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.”

AMP: “I will rejoice greatly in the LORD, My soul will exult in my God; For He has clothed me with garments of salvation, He has covered me with a robe of righteousness, As a bridegroom puts on a turban, And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.”

2 Peter 1:4 – Partakers of the divine nature

KJV: “Whereby are given unto us exceeding great and precious promises: that by these ye might be partakers of the divine nature…”

NIV: “Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature…”

AMP: “For by these He has bestowed on us His precious and magnificent promises [of inexpressible value], so that by them you may… become sharers of the divine nature.”

O Lord, we are but dust the wind may strew,

Frail clay unformed, by sin’s dark tempest torn,

Yet from Thy throne where living mercies dew,

Thy hand descends — and we, once lost, are born.

Thy strength, a flame that leaps through shadowed veins,

Arrays our tatters in celestial white;

The yoke of holy service gently reigns,

And lifts the bowed to wield unyielding light.

No more the slave beneath the fleshly rod,

We stand enrobed in righteousness divine —

A garment vast, by heaven’s own shuttle shod,

With jewels blazing where Thy glories shine.

See rubies red as covenantal blood,

Sapphires deep as oceans of Thy grace;

Emeralds green with hope’s eternal flood,

And pearls like tears that washed the sinner’s face.

Amethysts of awe crown every seam,

Diamonds of pardon flash with sovereign fire;

Upon the hem where healing virtues stream,

The living waters spark in ceaseless choir.

Before Thy throne we bow, in dust made bold,

Adoring hearts too vast for tongue to tell;

In speechless awe Thy righteousness behold,

And join the ransomed in their triumph swell.

Though dust we be, and frailty our first name,

Thy servant-power makes kings of earthen clods;

Clad in salvation’s jewel-woven flame,

We rise, redeemed — partakers of our God.

Glory to the Lamb who clothes the lost!

Delight in the Royally Redeemed: A Poetic Meditation on Psalm 16 and the Royal Priesthood of Believers by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

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Psalm 16:3-4 (KJV)

As for the saints that are in the earth, and to the excellent, in whom is all my delight.

Their sorrows shall be multiplied that hasten after another god: their drink offerings of blood will I not offer, nor take up their names into my lips.

Psalm 16:3-4 (NIV)

I say of the holy people who are in the land,

“They are the noble ones in whom is all my delight.”

Those who run after other gods will suffer more and more.

I will not pour out libations of blood to such gods

or take up their names on my lips.

Psalm 16:3-4 (AMP)

As for the saints (godly people) who are in the land,

They are the majestic and the noble and the excellent ones in whom is all my delight.

The sorrows [pain and suffering] of those who have chosen another god will be multiplied [because of their idolatry];

I will not pour out their drink offerings of blood,

Nor will I take their names upon my lips.

1 Peter 2:9 (KJV)

But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light.

1 Peter 2:9 (NIV)

But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.

1 Peter 2:9 (AMP)

But you are A CHOSEN RACE, A royal PRIESTHOOD, A CONSECRATED NATION, A [special] PEOPLE FOR God’s OWN POSSESSION, so that you may proclaim the excellencies [the wonderful deeds and virtues and perfections] of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light.

Dear Reader,

In the quiet tension between ancient covenant and present exile, this poem was born—not as mere ornament, but as an act of re-seeing. Psalm 16 unveils a profound paradox: the psalmist’s delight is not first in abstract divinity, but in the concrete, embodied community of the saints—those majestic, noble, and excellent ones who bear the scars and splendor of redemption. When Peter later declares us a royal priesthood, he does not invent a new identity; he unfolds what David glimpsed. The “royally redeemed” are no romantic ideal. They are flesh-and-blood bearers of divine kingship, purchased at infinite cost, set apart amid a world that still bows to bloodless yet deadly idols: power, spectacle, self, certainty, distraction.

To delight in them is an act of spiritual resistance and profound joy. It is to choose the excellent over the easy, the rooted cedar over the fleeting vine, the star-cluster of holy kinship over the isolated glow of false gods. The poem lingers in this tension because our age multiplies sorrows precisely where David warned—through frantic pursuit of lesser loves that promise everything and deliver chains. Yet in the company of the royally redeemed, sorrow is transfigured; majesty emerges not despite the storm but through it.

May these lines invite you not only to admire beauty, but to inhabit it—to recognize your own royal bearing, to cleave to the noble ones around you, and to refuse, with quiet defiance, every name that would steal your tongue and heart. In their light, we taste already the Kingdom that is coming, where delight is no longer contested but complete.

With reverence for the Word and wonder at the saints,

The Poet

In realms where covenantal glory gleams,

The royally redeemed arise in splendor bright,

As ancient cedars robed in heaven’s light,

Majestic pillars carved by sovereign hands.

Noble in bearing, excellent in grace,

They stand as jewels upon the sacred crown,

A royal priesthood, ransomed from the night,

In whom the psalmist’s deepest joys abound.

Their footsteps trace the paths of covenant love,

Like rivers carving valleys rich with life;

Redeemed by blood far purer than the stain

Of idol altars drenched in crimson rite.

He sees their worth as stars in clustered throng,

A holy nation bathed in royal hue,

Excellent souls whose light dispels the gloom,

And draws his heart in glad, unwavering tune.

Yet swift the shadows claim the errant soul

Who hastens after gods of dust and gold;

Their sorrows swell as tempests rend the plain,

Like thorns that choke the once-fertile field.

He turns from crimson cups that bleed for naught,

Nor lifts their shadowed names upon his tongue,

Lest chains of darkness bind the spirit’s flight

And mar the royal song of true delight.

O royally redeemed, majestic band,

You shine as beacons on the pilgrim’s way—

Noble in trial, excellent in faith,

A fellowship where living waters play.

Through tempests fierce and valleys veiled in shade,

Your rooted strength upholds the chosen few;

The psalmist cleaves to you with steadfast gaze,

Where truth endures and grace forever reigns.

Thus blooms the ancient verse in timeless fire,

A hymn to loyalty’s unyielding flame:

The heart that rests in holy kin refined

Rejects the hollow lure of fleeting fame.

In you, O royally redeemed and bright,

Majestic, noble, excellent and true,

The singer finds his purest, holiest light—

A foretaste of the Kingdom ever new.

Be Like the Bereans – Testing Every Word Against Eternal Truth by Debbie Harris

04 Thursday Jun 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Pleasing God Not Man, Royally Redeemed, Spiritual Warfare

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Dear Reader,

In a world loud with opinions, quick answers, and shallow soundbites, the ancient Bereans stand as a quiet, shining rebuke. They did not swallow teaching whole simply because it came from an apostle’s lips. Instead, they opened the Scriptures daily with eager, honest hearts and tested every claim against the unchanging truth of God’s Word.

This poem is my humble invitation for you to join their noble company. May these verses stir in you a fresh hunger—not for mere knowledge, but for verified, living truth. Faith is never meant to be blind; it is meant to be examined, rooted, and radiant.

Wherever you are on your journey, I pray you will dare to be Berean. Open the Book. Test the words. Seek until you find. The treasure is worth every diligent hour.

With hope and prayer,

The Poet

Acts 17:11

KJV (King James Version):

These were more noble than those in Thessalonica, in that they received the word with all readiness of mind, and searched the scriptures daily, whether those things were so.

NIV (New International Version):

Now the Berean Jews were of more noble character than those in Thessalonica, for they received the message with great eagerness and examined the Scriptures every day to see if what Paul said was true.

AMP (Amplified Bible):

Now these people were more noble and open-minded than those in Thessalonica, so they received the message [of salvation through faith in the Christ] with great eagerness, examining the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so.

ESV (English Standard Version):

Now these Jews were more noble than those in Thessalonica; they received the word with all eagerness, examining the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so.

In ancient Berea, where wisdom held sway,

A noble folk gathered at break of each day.

Not swift to believe what the preacher proclaimed,

But eager they listened, their hearts unashamed.

With scrolls unrolled under the sun’s golden light,

They tested each word against truth’s holy might.

No blind faith for them, no mere echo or guess—

They searched the old writings with diligent press.

More noble than those in Thessalonica’s throng,

Who heard without proving, and wandered along.

O seeker today, let your spirit arise—

Be noble like them: test all claims with clear eyes!

Will you open the Scriptures with zeal every morn,

Examine each teaching till truth is reborn?

Dare to be Berean—make faith a pursuit,

Or drift with the crowd in untested dispute?

Progressivism: The Serpent’s New Gospel – Satan Repackaged in Eden’s Shadow by Debbie Harris

03 Wednesday Jun 2026

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Dear Reader,

I write not from hatred, but from a heart heavy with alarm. In an age that flatters itself as enlightened, we have traded the ancient light of Christ for a glittering counterfeit. What parades as compassion and justice is, I believe, the oldest lie in new robes: the serpent’s whisper that power, not sin, defines us; that mercy is weakness; and that the “oppressor” must be crushed rather than redeemed.

This poem is a cry of warning. Progressivism, with its Critical Theory lens and oppressor/oppressed gospel, does not merely err—it inverts the Christian order. Where Scripture calls every soul fallen and redeemable, this ideology declares entire classes of people inherently guilty by birth. Where the Cross offers grace and persuasion, it demands rage and revolution. Where Christ says “love your enemies,” it teaches “by any means necessary.”

The bullet that silenced Charlie Kirk was not an anomaly but a logical fruit. When you paint your neighbor as evil incarnate, the moral path becomes elimination, not argument. I do not claim perfection for any political tribe—sin runs through us all—but I do claim this: the spirit now animating much of the modern Left is not progressive but regressive, a return to the ancient rebellion in Eden.

If these lines sting, let them. Let them drive you back to the Word, to prayer, and to the Lion of Judah who still roars that the gates of hell shall not prevail. Repentance remains possible. Truth still liberates. But only if we name the darkness for what it is.

With urgent concern and abiding hope in Christ,

The Poet

Genesis 3:1,4-5

Now the serpent was more subtil than any beast of the field which the LORD God had made. And he said unto the woman, Yea, hath God said, Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden? … And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die: For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.

Isaiah 5:20

Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!

2 Corinthians 11:14

And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.

Matthew 7:15

Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.

Matthew 11:28

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

Matthew 16:18

And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.

Matthew 5:44 (for the contrast with loving enemies)

But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;

In Eden’s hush the serpent spoke once more,

Not apple offered, but a poisoned creed:

“Oppressor, oppressed”—his ancient, iron law,

Dividing souls by blood, by skin, by seed.

No common fall in Adam’s guilty race,

But birthmarks branded: White and male accursed.

The Cross grows dim beneath this new disgrace—

For mercy weakens what pure power thirsts.

Thus Lucifer, in rainbow robes arrayed,

Preaches equity as heaven’s own decree.

“By any means,” his legions cry, unswayed,

“Burn cities down, punch Nazis, set them free!”

No erring brother here to win with grace,

But “literal Hitler,” fascist, mortal foe.

The bullet sings where sermons held their place—

For evil dies, and only blood can sow.

He twists the Book, perverts its every line:

“Love not thy foe, but crush the Philistine.”

The family fractures, gender bends divine,

The child laid bare on altars serpentine.

Envy wears justice like a stolen crown,

While borders tumble, Babel’s sin denied.

Truth becomes violence when it pulls them down,

And churches kneel where pride parades abide.

This is the Beast in scholar’s garb disguised,

False prophet rising with the dragon’s eyes.

It forges guilt from air, then hunts the wise,

Devouring remnant under smiling lies.

No cleansing blood, no weary soul finds rest,

But revolution’s endless, hungry night.

Where Christ says “Come,” the serpent hisses, “Rage—

And seize the throne that God would dare deny.”

Awake, O Church! The wolf has breached the fold,

In Critical Theory’s soft and treacherous fleece.

It slays the Kirk, it topples cross and gold,

And names the slaughter “progress”—sweet release.

Yet Heaven’s Lion thunders from His throne:

The gates of hell shall never overcome.

Repent this lie, this Satan dressed as dawn,

Or watch the West descend to Christless gloom.

For progress is but Eden’s fall reborn,

Repackaged, glittering, by millions worn.

The selfsame hiss: “Ye shall be gods in power,”

Devouring age on age, hour after hour.

Do You Know Jesus Christ As Your Personal Lord And Saviour? by Debbie Harris

01 Monday Jun 2026

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Dear Reader,

I wrote this poem as a simple, heartfelt invitation — not as judgment, but as a loving question that has changed my own life. In a noisy world full of distractions, I believe this is one of the most important things we can ever ask another soul.

My deepest desire as the poet is to take as many people to Heaven as possible. That journey begins with repenting of our sins and accepting Jesus Christ as Lord and Saviour — the only way to receive His forgiveness, new life, and the promise of eternity with Him.

May these words stir something deep inside you.

For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?

— Mark 8:36-37 (KJV)

Do you know Jesus?

He is full of life, light, truth, and grace.

Do you know Jesus?

This is the question we should ask

every soul we meet—

rich or poor, strong or weak.

Do you know Jesus?

The One who calms the storm inside,

who breaks the chains we try to hide.

Do you know Jesus?

Come and see, come and taste

the living hope, the endless feast.

Do you know Jesus?

Spiritually Curious, Biblically Illiterate: Behold Your Sin, See the Savior’s Love, and Live by Debbie Harris

30 Saturday May 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Royally Redeemed, salvation

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In shadowed halls where seekers chase false lights,

A restless generation wanders blind;

Spiritually curious through endless nights,

Yet biblically illiterate—lost in mind.

They grasp at crystals, stars, and trending lore,

While Heaven’s Book lies dusty on the shelf;

Foundations crumble that their fathers bore,

The Holy Scriptures, silenced for themselves.

O tragic void! The Rock of Ages spurned,

The Word made flesh rejected in their pride;

They quote the self but never Christ have learned,

Who bled upon the tree for them, and died.

Yet in this darkness gleams the Gospel ray—

“Repent and trust!” the Bible’s trumpet cries;

For Jesus rose, the Stone the builders slay,

And offers living waters from on high.

Behold the Scriptures! Open wide the page,

Where Genesis whispers of the Lamb foretold;

Psalms crown Him King, Isaiah paints His wage—

The suffering Servant, purchased with His gold.

John thunders grace: “In the beginning, He!”

The cross stands tall where wrath and mercy meet;

The tomb is empty—death has lost its key—

Salvation’s door swings wide for sinners’ feet.

Though illiteracy has veiled the ancient flame,

The Holy Bible burns with Christ alone;

No other name, no other way, no claim—

But Jesus saves the broken, makes them whole.

Awake, ye souls! Take up the sacred Book,

Behold your sin in Scripture’s piercing light;

See Christ’s great love—His blood for sinners took—

Repent, believe: a new creation rises bright!

O come and drink! The greatest Story calls:

From dust to glory, death to life anew;

The tragedy dissolves in blood-bought grace—

In Jesus’ name, salvation waits for you.

A Call to Berean Fidelity by Debbie Harris

28 Thursday May 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational

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Just because one walks through hallowed halls,

Where scholars pore o’er ancient tomes and scrolls,

And dons the robe with letters on the walls,

It means not that the living Spirit calls.

For many now with titles proudly stand,

And claim to speak for God with learned tongue;

Yet twist the sacred text with cunning hand,

Exalting self where holy fear is wrung.

The law is for the proud who trust their might,

Who boast in works and human righteousness;

But grace is for the broken, contrite heart—

The wounded soul the Lord alone will bless.

Be like the noble Bereans of old,

Who searched the Scriptures daily, line by line;

Though Paul himself had preached the truth foretold,

They tested all against the Word divine.

No seminary, doctorate, or fame

Can substitute for trembling at His Book;

In this dark age of bold apostate claim,

Cling fast to Scripture—let no teacher crook.

For wolves now dress in academic guise,

With polished speech that flatters itching ears;

They preach a lawless “grace” that never tries

The heart, but leaves the sinner dry of tears.

Test every spirit, every novel word,

Though wrapped in robes of learning, soft and wise;

The law exposes pride, but grace restored

Brings life to those who fall before His eyes.

The humble saint who knows no lofty school

May walk more closely with the risen Lord;

While eloquent deceivers play the fool,

And twist God’s truth into a twisted chord.

Let every heart bow low before the throne,

And search the Scriptures with a holy fear;

The law is for the proud—grace for the broken shown—

In days when blasphemy is proudly near.

For Christ alone is Head of all the Church,

His Word the final, sole authority;

No human title, platform, or research

Replaces “Thus saith God” in purity.

Stand therefore, saints, with lamp and sword in hand,

Unmoved by trends or scholarly applause;

In this last hour, across this troubled land,

Be true to Scripture and to Jesus Christ.

An Iron Anathema Upon the Bastard Gospels: A Solemn Heroic Ode Against the Pernicious Errors of Moral Relativism, False Tolerance, the Prosperity Heresy, and All Manner of Immorality that Corrupt the Pure Grace of Christ in These Perilous Latter Days by Debbie Harris

26 Tuesday May 2026

Posted by in Christian Poetry, Exalting Jesus Christ, Holy Bible, Inspirational, Pleasing God Not Man, Royally Redeemed, salvation

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Galatians 1:6-10 (NIV)

⁶ I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you to live in the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel— ⁷ which is really no gospel at all. Evidently some people are throwing you into confusion and are trying to pervert the gospel of Christ. ⁸ But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach a gospel other than the one we preached to you, let them be under God’s curse! ⁹ As we have already said, so now I say again: If anybody is preaching to you a gospel other than what you accepted, let them be under God’s curse!

¹⁰ Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God? Or am I trying to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ.

In Galatia’s sunlit vales where first the pure

Glad tidings rang from Paul’s unyielding tongue,

The heavens shook when swift apostates turned

From grace’s fountain to a gospel dunged

With human pride. “I marvel,” thundered he,

“Ye desert Him who called you into light,

To clutch a phantom gospel, no gospel be,

A twisted shadow born of darkest night.”

So now, in latter days more vile, I raise

This iron song against the creeping blight:

Moral Relativism, that serpent’s praise,

Which melts all truth to mist and calls it right.

“No absolute!” it hisses soft and sweet,

“What thou deem’st vice another holds as bloom;

Thy lust, thy greed, thy wrath—these are complete,

For every man his god, and every tomb

A door to self-made paradise.” Thus dies

The eternal Law, dissolved in vapid air,

While consciences, unanchored, fall and rise

On every fashionable, filthy stair.

Then Tolerance, that painted harlot, comes

In rainbow robes and voice of honeyed lies,

Proclaiming, “Judge not!” till the Church grows dumb

And opens wide her gates to every vice.

“Repentance wounds the soul,” the new priests cry;

“The Cross offends—make broad the narrow Way!”

They crown as sacred what the Scriptures name

Abomination, turning night to day,

Till heaven’s pure light and hell’s just fire seem

But equal shades in tolerance’s dream.

Behold the golden calf of Prosperity!

A gospel fat with promises of ease—

“Sow money, reap dominion, health, and glee;

Thy faith hath failed if suffering thou see.”

They nail the Man of Sorrows to a coin,

Make Calvary a marketplace of gain,

Trade thorns for crowns of plastic, and enjoin

The poor to “name it, claim it” in His name.

The blood that purchased pardon now is sold

For private jets and mansions built on sand;

They feast while Lazarus starves outside the fold,

And call their greed the touch of God’s own hand.

All Immorality now struts arrayed

In robes of “liberation,” bold and bright:

Lust hailed as love, pride as empowerment made,

Wrath as justice, sloth as self-care’s right.

A Christ remade who winks at every chain,

A Spirit soft as down, a Father mild

Who never thunders “Turn!” nor counts the slain

That slide in silken ease to darkness wild.

They preach a bloodless cross, a crownless King,

A gospel shorn of power to save or kill—

And bid the nations dance and clap and sing

While souls descend the broad and pleasant hill.

Yet hear the apostolic curse resound,

More fierce than Sinai’s thunder, sharp as flame:

Though Paul himself, or angel heaven-crowned,

Should preach another gospel in Christ’s name—

Anathema! Let him be damned, cut off,

Devoted to destruction’s holy ire!

Twice spoke the Apostle; twice I set it forth—

The gospel stands eternal, fixed, entire.

For am I now a servant seeking men’s applause,

Or God’s alone? Shall I please mortal breath

And lose the crown? Nay! Let the whole world pause

In outrage—still I cleave to living death

Of Calvary. One gospel, one sure blood,

One narrow gate, one Saviour, crucified,

Risen, returning. All the shifting flood

Of lies shall break against this Rock and die.

O Church of the last days, awake! Arise!

Cast off these bastard creeds that wear His name

Yet bear no scars. Cling to the truth that buys

With precious blood, not cars or fleeting fame.

Let every false apostle stand revealed,

Every gilded lie meet its appointed doom,

Till once again the ancient Word is sealed

In hearts that serve—not man—but Christ the Groom.

*Let him who has ears to hear, hear.*