I was praying, groaning in my spirit for the Church. Not just the ones I attend, but His Church—the one purchased with blood. I was not asking for better sermons or full pews. I was asking for Him. For Yeshua to return to the center. To take His rightful place. To move in whatever way He desires, no matter the cost.
And I felt Him.
This was not a vision or a dream. It was the holy presence of the Nazarene, the Flame-Eyed Son of God. And I knew it with certainty: Yeshua walks among the lampstands. He is walking through His Church right now.
He is not watching from a distance. He is not whispering from the clouds. He is here, walking.
He walks through stained-glass cathedrals and simple living rooms. He moves through mega churches and forgotten storefronts. He visits wooden chapels and open fields. He is not distracted. He is not impressed. He is searching.
He is searching for hearts that still burn. For oil that still flows. For altars that have not been traded for platforms or performance.
He passed by a sanctuary full of noise and motion, but the hearts were far. They sang songs of surrender, yet lived untouched. The lights were bright, but there was no fire. He wept—not because sin was present, but because no one seemed to care that it remained.
Then He turned to a house church— unnoticed by the world, yet cherished in heaven. They trembled at His Word. They cried out, not for blessings, but for Him. And He stayed with them. Not because they were perfect, but because they were hungry.
He entered churches that once burned with holy fire but had grown cold with nostalgia. He passed pulpits that once thundered truth but now echoed with compromise. And to them He says, “I have not left. I am still here. But you moved. Come back.”
I saw Him pause.
Before one heart.
A woman with tear-streaked cheeks, hands lifted high in the back of the room.
A man clutching his Bible like a lifeline, praying when no one notices.
A child singing without shame or fear.
He smiled.
Because He is not only walking among churches. Yeshua walks among the lampstands. And some still burn.
Some flicker quietly in hidden places. Some blaze boldly in the open. Some barely hold on. But if there is oil—if there is love—He is there. He stands there. He speaks there.
He is saying:
- Strengthen what remains.
- Wake up.
- Repent.
- Return.
- Buy oil.
- I am coming quickly.
Beloved, He is not walking slowly or aimlessly. He is walking with fire in His eyes and a sword in His mouth. He is measuring. He is calling. He is jealous for His Bride.
You do not need a pulpit to burn.
You do not need a building to shine.
You only need oil in your lamp and love in your heart.
The King is in the room.
Yeshua walks among the lampstands still.
A Prayer of Return and Fire
You are the One our hearts were made for.
No substitute can satisfy. No ritual can revive.
Only You—living, holy, near.
You are not a memory. You are not a symbol.
You are here. And we long for You.
We do not want Your gifts more than Your presence.
We do not want borrowed fire or secondhand faith.
We are not content with yesterday’s encounter.
We want to burn again—with holy love, with trembling joy,
with oil in our lamps and awe in our bones.
You walk among us even now.
You still speak. You still search hearts.
You still test motives.
You still draw near to the ones who draw near to You.
You fill the empty. You heal the broken.
You reveal Yourself to the hungry.
So here we are.
No more pretending. No more waiting.
We open the door. We fall to our knees.
Let every lesser thing be swept away.
Let every idol fall. Let every pride be broken.
We make space for You.
We clear the stage.
We silence every voice that would drown out Yours.
You are our desire. You are our fire. You are our reward.
Come and take Your place.
Be enthroned in our worship.
Be honored through our obedience.
Be revealed through our love.
We do not need another move.
We need You.
⸻