Light the Beacon



If we light our beacon, atop the tallest hill in the most visible place, so then they too can light theirs. But we must climb. We must ascend to the greatest heights with torch in hand. And there must be oil…and there must be a pyre—which, by definition, is a heap of flammable things to burn the dead. Sounds about right: an arduous and determined ascent, carrying a spark-starter, a pursuit doused in Spirit, culminating in a dry, dead pile that needs to burn bright for all to see.

This is us. And this is the call that is sounding.

Lord, light the beacon(s). Draw them and call them north. There is such work to be done. We stand, a remnant, on the precipice of the war of this age…and stakes could not be higher. The hour is grim.

So, may it sound in the night like a clear bell ringing. Yes, a tall fire that makes a noise. Not just a noise, but rather, the blowing of a trumpet. Call us up! Call us in…Bright Trumpeteer! Call us to the front Lord, there is no greater advance.

And let it ring, let it ring! Let it glow and reverberate for all the other hills to see, one after another catching their own lonely funeral blaze with wind, oil, and torch…instilling solid hope. O Captain, they must see…and how will they see? Glorious One, they must hear, and how will they hear? In an age where all is drowned out, where all in white noise and fake fire—how, my Jesus, will they discern pure white flame and clear piercing blast???

This causes an aching in me Jesus. I see an over-saturated, über-stimulated, “super-too-much” herd of dead nerves walking. They rush to paper scenery and faux-backdrop. They crave the new, novel, and hip. They starve while consuming fluff and pictures of real sustenance.

How shall we, Your sounders and beacons, strike the note that is heard and light the blaring edifice that is to be seen??? Why did the Israelites stand and watch? Why did they take the time to gawk at a passion-prophet rebuilding an altar? How did Elijah gather the people to the dispute of their time? How did he do it….

He shut up heaven from rain…
He prayed….
He dressed a sacrifice…
He mocked evil…
He reopened heaven with fire and the hand of God…
He started a public war…
He slew falsity by the River…

Holy Father, light your beacon again from on high, show Your hand mighty, use a prophet…a man, and BRING HEAVEN DOWN ON EARTH with all Your might.

Do it Lord, or we will soon perish in an age of evil.

Come quickly.




About Joshua M. Brindle

Child. Father. Husband. Herald. Writer. Messenger. Psalmist. Poet-Prophet. Biker. Beard-wearer. Teacher. Pastor? Follower. Disciple. Disciple-er. Bearer of the Torche. Keeper of the Flame. Waver of the Banner. Running the race. Fighting the fight. Revolutionary...hopefully.
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