Dream Word – OBEY
Luke 21:25-28 And there shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars; and upon the earth distress of nations, with perplexity; the sea and the waves roaring; Men's hearts failing them for fear, and for looking after those things which are coming on the earth: for the powers of heaven shall be shaken. And then shall they see the Son of man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. And when these things begin to come to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh. KJV
Outside my window, then, tall and solid, sentinel-like in standing, and spreading its rich, red, fruit-laden branches, used to be a ‘Whispering Tree.’ Warding off witches and wafting its knowledge in the warm autumn wind, a voice then came slipping through the slight crack of my one ajar’d windowpane, its ancient words landing with feather-like gentleness upon my listening ears, and they said, “Be ready. Look up. For your salvation draweth nigh.” Yes, Rowan, the ancient and scarlet-clad woman of autumn, is now ready to speak her secrets to all who shall take the time to listen.
I remember musing on this 'Night-Whisper' in the autumn day of 2008, when the global financial crash was already beginning to bite. It took some time for the tidal wave to reach all of our inlands, but the outcome was sure even then; the world would never be the same again and soon, the tsunamious repercussions of all our gaudy greed would wet the lowland waiting fields, and though some would never 'wipe their face' again, still, and even so, amidst the shocking turmoil, talked up on all the 24-hour astonished and fear-filled news channels of the time, there was not one head that was turned to God, not one eye that looked up, and not one mouth that cried to God for help. My God! Even the church sat stupefyingly quiet, saucer-eyed and gormless, twitching toddler-like in its dung filled nappy, sucking on a yellow plastic hammer. It had nothing to say. For what could it say? It had regressed into an imbecilic infancy a long, long time ago, when in its old and aged worldly wisdom, it rejected the revolution of repentance, and scolded Scripture for its brashness, and took on both ‘inoffensive safety’ as its not so young nanny, and then hired this mocking virgin of ‘acceptant spirituality’ to lie between its sheet,s and keep it warm in its old, and cold, now most impotent of feet. You see, a church without a Scriptural center is sterile, old and wrinkly, and full of rotting balls. It is ready to die, and the death of this Western Church is what we are witnessing today, and good riddance, yes, I say good riddance to it, for what value to a lost world is open-legged and compromised nonsense, except to spread the STD of a self-righteous and virtue signaling pox to everybody. Good riddance to it.
The banquet of the Rowan tree, ‘the bird catcher,’ is still standing sentinel outside that window, and still fills the bellies of hungry Autumn birds with orange flesh and rich seedlings all wrapped in small, coal-coloured black jackets. These same full birds, when on their travels of speaking testimony to the goodness of God, will, quite naturally, fertilisingly deposit the Rowan seeds into the waiting arches of other trees, high crags, weather split rocks, and all the other hard to reach and impossible places of the earth, the seeds carrying with them all the possibilities of a future rich and red in goodness. Taking root in unusual places then, these new small and sprouting fresh trees, these so-called ‘Flying Rowans,’ will become even more mythical and valuable in their prowess and their power. Revealed secrets you see, implanted words, when they produce a crop in the most unlikeliest of places,
