Torn Between Two Thrones—this is the condition of much of the Church in America today. One throne is the seat of comfort, compromise, and cultural applause. The other is the throne of Yeshua, the crucified and risen King. And too many are trying to bow to both. But the Lord is speaking with clarity in this hour: You must choose. You cannot serve two masters. The time is short, and the shaking has begun.
My child, hear Me. I have seen your labor, your worship, your gatherings in My name. I have watched you weep at altars and lift your hands in praise. I know the love you once had for Me, the fire that once burned in your bones.
But I have this against you—you have drifted. You have let the noise of the world drown out My voice. You have allowed compromise to settle where conviction once lived. You have traded intimacy for influence, and truth for comfort.
You cry out for revival, yet you will not let Me revive you. You ask for My Spirit, but you resist when He comes to sanctify, correct, and burn away what does not belong. My eyes are like fire—not to destroy you, but to refine you. Yet many of you turn your faces from the flame.
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You have tolerated what I hate.
You call yourselves free, but many of you are enslaved:
- to pornography and lust, which rot the soul
- to greed, which hardens the heart
- to bitterness, which poisons every relationship
- to fear of man, which silences the truth
- to idols of politics and race, which divide what I made one
- to entertainment and comfort, which lull you to sleep
- to a gospel of self, which denies the cross
You carry My name but not My nature. You boast in your freedom, but you use it as a covering for sin. You welcome prophets of profit and teachers who tickle ears. You tolerate Jezebel, and you have forgotten how to weep for your sin.
Have I changed? Am I not the same holy God who thundered at Sinai, who struck down Ananias and Sapphira, who walked among the lampstands?
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America, I blessed you, but you turned My gifts into gods.
I gave you liberty, and you used it to justify rebellion. I gave you abundance, and you forgot the Giver. I showed you mercy, and still you murder your unborn and parade your pride. You have exchanged truth for lies and celebrated what I call shame.
You have exalted the creature above the Creator and called it progress. You have cast off restraint and called it freedom. You have mocked My order, My design, My Word—and you think I do not see?
But I tell you the truth: I will not be mocked.
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Yet still I stand at the door and knock.
My mercy has not run out. My hand is not shortened. I have not forgotten the remnant who have not bowed to Baal, who still hunger for righteousness. I have heard the prayers of the intercessors, the groans of My watchmen, the brokenness of the hidden ones who weep between the porch and the altar.
To you who will humble yourselves, return to Me.
Tear down your idols. Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Stop blending My Word with the world. Return to the ancient paths. Preach the cross again. Love the truth again. Walk in the fear of the Lord.
The time is short. The fields are white. My Spirit is ready to be poured out—but I will not place new wine in old wineskins.
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Church in America, return to Me—before the shaking becomes collapse.
Judgment begins in My house, but mercy is still flowing from My throne. If you will rend your hearts and not just your garments, I will restore what the locust has eaten. I will raise up sons and daughters to prophesy. I will inhabit your gatherings with My glory again.
I will not share My throne with idols. I am coming for a pure Bride, not a powerful brand.
I am calling you now—before the floodwaters rise.
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To you who hear, respond:
Fall on your knees. Confess your sins. Forgive your enemies. Love the unlovable. Preach My Gospel—not a cultural gospel, not a political gospel—but the Gospel of the crucified and risen King.
I AM the Lord. There is no other. My Word will not return void. I have spoken—and I will do it.
Let the Church arise. Let the Bride prepare. Let the fear of the Lord return. Let the fire on the altar never go out.
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Come back to Me. I am waiting.
—Yeshua, King of Glory, Lord of Hosts
