Hello there! Welcome to Fiery Word
If you haven’t already done so, please subscribe to this newsletter. It is free and goes directly to your inbox when you subscribe.
Kindly take a second to subscribe and share with somebody today.
Then God said to Jacob, “Go up to Bethel and settle there, and build an altar there to God, who appeared to you when you were fleeing from your brother Esau.” So Jacob said to his household and to all who were with him, “Get rid of the foreign gods you have with you, and purify yourselves and change your clothes. Then come, let us go up to Bethel, where I will build an altar to God, who answered me in the day of my distress and who has been with me wherever I have gone.” (Genesis 35:1-3)
There are seasons in the life of every believer when the Lord calls us back to the altar, back to the lampstand, back to the first love. These are not moments to shame us but moments of grace, when the Spirit of God reminds us that His fire has not gone out completely, that a new flame can yet be fanned into brightness. We are invited to look honestly at the state of our hearts: is the fire on the altar still burning, or have the coals grown dim? Is the lamp of the Lord still lit in the temple of our lives, or is the oil running low?
God once said to Jacob, “Arise, go up to Bethel, and dwell there; and make an altar there to God” (Genesis 35:1). Jacob had wandered, his family had collected idols, and his spiritual garments were stained. Yet God’s word was not condemnation but invitation. Jacob called his household and said, “Put away the foreign gods that are among you, purify yourselves, and change your garments” (v. 2). He knew renewal required consecration, fire required cleansing, covenant required obedience. What Jacob experienced was grace for a new beginning.
In Shiloh, during the time of young Samuel, the Scriptures tell us, “the word of the Lord was rare in those days; there was no widespread revelation” (1 Samuel 3:1). Yet verse 3 carries hope: “and before the lamp of God went out in the tabernacle of the Lord… the Lord called Samuel.” God spoke while there was still a flicker. He revealed Himself not in the abundance of light but in the faithfulness of a boy who said, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” This is the mystery of God’s grace—when the lamp is weak, He still calls, new beginnings always start with His voice.
But when our flame falters, the first thing we lose sight of is not just personal devotion, but fellowship. Acts 2 gives us a picture of what fire looks like in community: “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer” (v. 42). They gathered daily, shared food, praised God, and the Lord added to their number. That is fire made visible. Yet when our connection to God grows dim, community begins to feel heavy. Fellowship becomes a chore, the body of Christ feels like a burden rather than a gift. We begin to think isolation is safer, independence more mature. But the apostolic doctrine is clear, the Christian life is not lived away from the body but within it. The Spirit’s fire fuels us in secret, but it is meant to blaze most brightly in fellowship.
Heaven itself is a chorus, never a solo. John’s vision in Revelation 4 shows living creatures crying, “Holy, holy, holy,” and the twenty-four elders casting their crowns in response to contagious worship. The glory of one ignites the glory of another and every time we gather at prayer nights, dinner parties, or worship services, we participate in that reality: “on earth as it is in heaven.” Too often we imagine heaven as a far-off hope, but the Spirit is the downpayment of our inheritance (Ephesians 1:14). Downpayments are not for later, they are for now. The foretaste is already ours, if only we use it.
Yet the challenge remains, we often choose wrongly. We retreat into isolation, we cling to communities that do not sharpen us, or we sit within God’s family without receiving its gifts. The church at Antioch shows us a different story: “While they were worshiping the Lord and fasting, the Holy Spirit said, ‘Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul’” (Acts 13:2). Instruction came in the presence of God, but commissioning came through community. God separates us for ministry not as lone soldiers but from within the body.
And so, to all children of God, the word is plain: the time for new beginnings has come. “Write the vision and make it plain on tablets, that he may run who reads it” (Habakkuk 2:2). The appointed time has arrived. Even if it lingered, it now speaks. We may feel weary, stretched, tired from battles both spiritual and physical, but God says, “Behold, I am doing a new thing.” He has given us grace not to collapse but to start afresh. This is not ordinary grace, it is grace for signs and wonders. “Here am I and the children the Lord has given me! We are for signs and wonders” (Isaiah 8:18). It is grace that declares, “Behold, the former things have come to pass, and new things I declare” (Isaiah 42:9).
The only right response to such grace is the lifting of our voices. Silence has no power here. Job said, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him. I will surely defend my ways to His face… only grant me these two things… then I would speak up without fear of Him” (Job 13). Silence equated to death; words equated to life. Hezekiah was told to put his house in order, for he would die but he turned his face to the wall, wept, and spoke. God added fifteen years (2 Kings 20). Jehoshaphat stood before the great armies of Moab and Ammon, but as the people sang and lifted their voices, the Lord set ambushes against their enemies (2 Chronicles 20). The word must be sent; silence forfeits the promise.
Why do we have this power? Because Christ refused to use His. “He was oppressed and afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth” (Isaiah 53:7). He kept silent at the trial, before Pilate, before Herod, so that we might receive the right to open our mouths in victory. He bore silence so that our tongues might carry authority. It is why Jesus told His disciples, “I will give you words and wisdom that none of your adversaries will be able to resist or contradict” (Luke 21:15). The word is already in our mouth and in our heart (Romans 10:8). God Himself works by this principle: “Let there be light,” and light came forth. The centurion in Matthew 8 understood: “Only say the word, and my servant shall be healed.” So must we.
The grace has already been given, but it cannot be idle. Too many of us have refused to send the word, to worship in Spirit and truth, to lift up Jesus. And yet, this is the very reason we were created: “And I, if I am lifted up, will draw all men to Myself” (John 12:32). The Great Commission stands: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19). Grace carries responsibility. To receive grace is to receive commission. “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” (Isaiah 6:8). Our answer must be, “Here am I. Send me.”
This is grace for new beginnings: grace to rekindle the altar, grace to remain in fellowship, grace to live heaven on earth, grace to send the word, grace to become vessels for God’s work. And to this grace, the only response is worship, obedience, and the offering of our tongues as instruments of fire.
Prayer
Father,
Thank You for grace that calls me back to Bethel, grace that rekindles my altar, grace that whispers when the lamp is nearly out.
Lord, add fire to my altar and keep my lamp burning always before You. Give me a well-instructed tongue to sustain the weary and incline my ear to hear Your Word.
Fill me with wisdom and understanding through Your Spirit. Where my past words have trapped me, intervene and release me with a new word.
Holy Spirit, remain my constant partner; let my life be a living sign and wonder. Fill my mouth with Your Word and my heart with Your character.
I declare today: I will not be silent, I will send forth the Word, I will worship in Spirit and truth, I will answer the call and say, “Here am I, send me.”
Amen.