A Slice of Infinity

The crude oil is subjected to intense heat. At lower temperatures, the lightest gases are extracted. As the temperature steadily increases, petrol is released. As the heat rises even higher and is sustained over time, kerosene is produced. If you want the heavy, high-grade oils or the aviation fuel that powers massive jets, you cannot rush the process...

The danger of the modern believer is gazing at the spectacular rather than the Saviour. We have become a generation dazzled by the by-products of the Kingdom while neglecting the King.

In 2013, the Belgian artist Stromae released a song that took the world by storm. It was titled "Papaoutai", a clever play on the French phrase Papa, où t'es? which translates to, "Dad, where are you?" It is a track wrapped in an upbeat, infectious rhythm, but if you listen closely to the lyrics, beneath the melody is the haunting, agonizing cry of a child looking for an absent father.

This is not an isolated method in Scripture. When the Apostle Paul stood before the philosophers on Mars Hill, he directly quoted their pagan Greek poets to make his point: "For in him we live, and move, and have our being; as certain also of your own poets have said, For we are also his offspring" (Acts 17:28). Paul was certainly not endorsing the Greek pantheon. He was simply building a bridge of cultural accommodation to deliver the core theological message of the Gospel.

We tend to read this silence and assume Baal was merely a fictional concept or a powerless block of wood that had never done anything. But human nature is deeply pragmatic. If Baal’s altars had always been silent, if his worship had never yielded any tangible spiritual manifestation, the nation of Israel would not have abandoned Yahweh to serve him for years.

Let me try to expound a bit more on this so you can fully grasp this animosity. The tension between Jews and Samaritans was centuries old, rooted in a bitter history of compromise and division. Following the Assyrian conquest of the Northern Kingdom, the remaining Israelites intermarried with foreign captives, resulting in a mixed lineage with a synchronized religion.

I was standing in my kitchen a few moments ago, rinsing my very sharp knife under running water. As the water ran over the blade, the Holy Spirit hit me with a revelation so simple yet so profound that I had to stop and write. Some years ago, no one would have allowed me to rinse that knife by myself. Not because I was stupid. Not because I was rebellious. But because I had not yet matured enough to know how to handle it without cutting my hand. Today, I hold that same knife,

There are converts in Syria today. There are believers in Iran, in Saudi Arabia, in nations whose governments have declared Christianity an enemy of the state. They worship quietly, at great personal cost, in houses that the world would never call a church. They carry their faith the way Naaman carried his soil — into a land that does not recognise it, before a culture that does not honour it, under pressures that would cause many comfortable Christians to reconsider entirely

We live in a time when commitment is increasingly conditional — offered freely when life is comfortable and withdrawn the moment it costs something real. There are women today who will not stay through financial difficulty, let alone through the kind of physical and emotional deprivation that Naaman's wife endured. There are men who would not have remained either. We have largely built a culture in which love is measured by how good it feels, rather than by how long it holds.

As I studied Hebrews 13, I noticed in verse 16 that the word ‘communicate’ in the KJV was translated in the Yoruba version as ‘pínfúnni’ which means ‘giving or charity’. Immediately it caught my attention; ‘communicate’ in English today means to talk to people, share ideas. So I took a deeper dive to investigate.

That demand stands—regardless of circumstance. And if we are honest, it raises a question in the human heart: Why must a man suffer and still be required to live uprightly? Why don’t the difficulties of life automatically qualify him for divine reward? Why is more still required?

Outside that land, however, is a different reality. It is not necessarily loud chaos all the time—but it is a life where decisions are made without divine input. And when God is removed from the equation, even good systems can produce bad outcomes. This is why people can look at the same institution—like marriage—and arrive at completely different conclusions. One sees protection; another sees danger. One sees order; another sees risk.

There are those who pray long, those who pray with intensity, and those whose prayers carry a certain weight and fervency. These are not wrong in themselves. However, a critical question must be asked: is the length or intensity of prayer a true measure of alignment with God? Over time, a subtle belief has formed in many hearts—that persistence in prayer, when taken to sufficient length or intensity, can compel God to act. Prayer begins to be treated as though it were a mecha

From a political standpoint, this was intelligent. From a human perspective, it was effective. But from a divine standpoint, it was dangerous. The instruction of God to Israel concerning such unions had been clear. The people were warned not to intermarry with certain nations because of the spiritual implications. The concern was not merely cultural mixing, but the inevitable turning of the heart away from God.

There is something deeply relevant here, particularly when one considers the structure of modern political leadership. It is not uncommon to find systems where those in authority control a disproportionate share of a nation’s resources, while the people they govern struggle under economic pressure. The imbalance is often justified through complex systems of entitlement—allowances, benefits, privileges—but beneath it, the same ancient issue remains: an unwillingness to be sati

When a man continues to accumulate without restraint—when there is no sense of “enough,” no boundary of sufficiency, no inward check against excess—it may no longer be accurate to describe his condition as blessedness. It may instead be evidence that something within has shifted. The heart has quietly moved from trusting God’s provision to depending on material accumulation.

What is immediately evident is that this provision is not reactive. It is not as though the priests had come forward to complain of lack, nor is it presented as a solution to a visible crisis. Rather, it is embedded within God’s plan from the outset. Before the system is fully established, the sustenance of those who will serve within it has already been secured.

He may not have needed to kneel publicly before those altars to be implicated in them. By providing the space, the resources, and the permission, he had already aligned himself with what they represented. His heart had shifted, and his actions followed that shift. And God responded not to a label, but to a posture...David provided the resources. He prepared the plans. He organized the labor. But more importantly, he set his affection upon it. His heart moved ahead of his circ

They saw His power, but interpreted it through the lens they already possessed. Miracles became, in their imagination, evidence of political potential. Authority over demons suggested authority over empires. Even His teaching about the “kingdom of God” was filtered through categories of earthly rule. In their minds, they were not merely following a teacher; they were aligning themselves with a coming regime.

At first glance, both groups appear identical. They are all priests. They are all engaged in service. Yet, a closer look reveals a defining difference—only one group is described as those who “come near to the LORD.” This is not a casual detail; it is the dividing line. The explanation for this separation is given more fully in Ezekiel 44:10–13 (KJV)