Resurrection Logic.

The simplest way to explain resurrection logic is this: If death is not the end, then everything about life, justice, suffering, and hope must be re‑interpreted. Resurrection is the “new logic” that rewrites the rules.

Let me break it down in clear, everyday language.

1. The basic idea is that resurrection flips the normal order. Normal human logic says: You live, you die and that’s it. Resurrection logic says: You live, you die, God reverses what should be irreversible and you continue in a transformed way. It’s the belief that God can undo the finality of death, which means death is no longer the ultimate boundary of reality.

2. Resurrection logic is “reversal logic.” It’s the logic of: Life out of death. Hope out of despair. It’s victory out of defeat and new beginnings out of endings. It’s the pattern where God takes what looks finished, ruined, or impossible and brings something living out of it.

This is why resurrection logic applies not only to literal death but also to: dead relationships, dead dreams, dead seasons, dead courage, dead faith. Anything that feels “over” becomes material God can resurrect.

3. Resurrection logic is God’s signature move. Throughout Scripture, God consistently works through this pattern:

Abraham and Sarah: a dead womb → a promised child  

Israel in Egypt: a crushed people → a delivered nation  

The valley of dry bones: literal bones → a living army  

Jesus: crucified and buried → raised and enthroned  

The resurrection isn’t just an event; it’s God’s way of doing things.

4. Resurrection logic changes how you interpret your life.

If resurrection is real, then setbacks aren’t final. Loss isn’t the last chapter. Suffering isn’t wasted. Failure isn’t fatal. Waiting isn’t empty.  

It means you can look at something that seems hopeless and say: “This might be the soil God uses for something new.”

5. Resurrection logic is not “positive thinking.” It’s not pretending things are fine or ignoring pain or forcing optimism. It’s the belief that God enters death itself—the worst, darkest, most irreversible thing—and brings life out of it. So resurrection logic is realistic about death but confident about God.

6. Resurrection logic is the logic of the Kingdom in the Kingdom: It’s where the last become first, where the meek inherit the earth, the crucified King becomes the risen Lord and the seed dies to bear fruit.  

Everything follows the pattern: Death → Burial → Hiddenness → Rising → Fruit. This is resurrection logic in motion.

7. In layman’s terms:

If I had to put it in one sentence: Resurrection logic means God can bring life out of anything—even the things that look completely dead— therefore nothing is truly hopeless.

The Table of the Lord of Hosts.

“The Table of the LORD of Hosts”

As we come to the Lord’s Table this morning, I want to draw your heart toward a name of God that Zechariah repeats like a steady drumbeat — a name that carries weight, reassurance, and wonder. It is the name “the LORD of hosts.”  

In Hebrew it is YHWH ṣĕbāʾōt — the God who commands the armies of heaven, the God whose authority fills both the visible and invisible realms, the God who speaks with the backing of angelic forces, cosmic powers, and the entire unseen world.  

Zechariah’s generation needed this name. They were a small remnant, returned from exile, surrounded by enemies, rebuilding the ruins of their city, quite likely with trembling hands. They had no king, no army, no national strength. Yet over and over, God speaks to them with the same royal signature:  

“Thus says the LORD of hosts…” (Zechariah 8:2)

Why? Because God wanted His people to know that their weakness was not the final word. They may have felt fragile, but they were not abandoned. They may have been few, but they were not alone. They may have lacked earthly armies, but heaven itself stood behind them.

And this morning, as we prepare to receive communion, that same truth rests upon us. The Table is not a quiet ritual performed before a distant God. It’s a covenant meal offered by the Commander of heaven’s hosts, the One who marshals all of creation toward redemption, the One who fights for His people, the One who surrounds His children with unseen help.

Communion is the reminder that the God who commands angels is also the God who gave Himself for us. Isaiah saw this glory when he wrote: “The LORD of hosts is exalted in justice, and the Holy God shows Himself holy in righteousness.” (Isaiah 5:16)

The One enthroned above the hosts became the Lamb who was slain. The One who commands armies took on flesh. The One who governs galaxies allowed Himself to be pierced. This is the wonder of the Table; where majesty becomes mercy, where the Commander becomes Servant, where the LORD of hosts becomes the Lamb of God.

When Jesus lifted the bread and the cup, He was not speaking as a mere teacher. He was speaking as the One who holds all authority in heaven and on earth — the One whose sacrifice would shake the cosmos, silence the accuser, and open a new and living way for us.

Paul echoes this when he writes: “This is My body, which is for you… This cup is the new covenant in My blood.” (1 Corinthians 11:24–25)

The Commander gives His body. The Commander pours out His blood. The Commander establishes a covenant that no enemy can break.

So today, as you come to the Table, bring your frailty. Bring your fears. Bring the places where you feel outnumbered, overwhelmed, or under-resourced. Because communion is not a meal for the strong — it’s a meal for the surrounded. And the One who surrounds you is the LORD of hosts.

He speaks over your life with the same authority He spoke over Jerusalem: “I am jealous for you with great zeal.” “I will dwell in your midst.” “I will save you.” “I will strengthen your hands.” “I will do good to you.” Every promise is reinforced by the armies of heaven.

And when you take the bread and the cup, you are receiving the life, love, and victory of the One who commands all things for your good. So, come to the Table. Come to the Commander. Come to the One who fights for you, surrounds you, and gave Himself for you.

Thank you, Jesus, for your great and ineffable sacrifice. You are my King and I praise Your holy name. Amen.

Washing in the Blood and the Water

Jesus is dead on the cross. Just to be sure, one soldier pierced His side; blood and water flowed. John writes to the truth of this testimony. John swears an oath to this – the fluids pour out.

Why was John so adamant? Medically, it appears to be a ruptured heart, as the spear pierced deeply. But is there more to this story?

Jesus was heard to cry out; “It is finished.” This is a special season where the bodies must be removed from the cross and buried before sunset. In keeping with religious practices of the day, a body must not be left on the cross. The body must come down.

If the criminal isn’t dead, to hurry the process, legs are broken. It helps rush the inevitable. At this point though, Jesus has already died. None of His bones were broken which was in keeping with earlier writings, where John wrote in verse 19:26; None of His bones would be broken.

Still, just to be sure, a spear was thrust into Jesus’ side from which blood and water flowed, showing the truth of that. John saw it. He wrote about it. He was emphatic about the sentences he wrote, stating it testifies to the truth of what he saw.

For a historical testimony – Jesus actually died. A genuine corpse hung on the cross – that’s the written proof of the death of Jesus. Jesus physically died and John swore to the truth of that. He writes, so you too will believe. When he wrote about the blood and the water, this is the medical verification of the truth of Jesus’ death. Blood poured from the heart. Water poured from the sac around the heart, which is what happens in a death of this kind, where fluid collects around the heart after death.

When pierced, John doesn’t use a diagnosis of broken heart or sac of water. We don’t want to proffer an idea that isn’t biblical. The bible doesn’t state a ruptured heart but shows the symbolism of the moment. Instead, what flows from the rupture.

The bible speaks a lot to the blood of Jesus. Blood means life and atonement, right from when Adam and Eve sinned and blood was shed to clothe them. Further along, blood was painted on doorposts to protect the Israelites during the exodus movement. The temple had rivers of blood; blood which poured out for 1500 years.

God was showing sin costs a life; a price must be paid. Bulls and goats could cover but were never able to make a full payment. The pierced side changed that. 1500 years of ineffective washing away of sin until the perfect sacrifice.

Earlier, John had stated; “Behold the Lamb who takes away the sin (John 1:29). At the cross the Lamb is slain. John sees in that moment, the one and only, final sacrifice. The moment every sin is paid in full.

During old testament days millions of animals were sacrificed. Generation after generation and yet none took away sin permanently for it was impossible to take away sin until finally; one Man, one death and then the sacrifices could stop. For that was the moment every sin is paid in full.

The blood deals with your guilt. Your wrong is covered by that one sacrifice – that’s the first river from the side of Christ. And the water? The water is more than forgiveness (for that’s what the blood bought). It’s the transformation into the new life.   

Water flows for your new nature. Blood flows for your guilt. Blood pays the debt for what you’ve done. Water brings new life as it renews the heart. The heart of stone turned into a heart of flesh. One cancels and one releases. You need both.

You can’t preach on the blood only, for one comes with the other; justification and regeneration. Blood first then water. Guilt dealt with then cleansing and new life. Both are gifts. Both flow from the open wound at His side.

And then what happens? Sin is forgiven but we are tired from the battle. The water is the renewal; the remaking from the inside, not to white-knuckle it on our own but to go through to our rest with Him who will not leave the job half done. The second river is for you; refreshment and new life – a new heart.

Blood and water are a theme running throughout the bible and once you’re aware of it you will see it. In Eden, rivers flowed. Sin comes and man was thrown out of the garden. In accepting the living water, man was brought back into paradise. The wounded side at the cross brings that flow into your life.

Eve, Adam’s bride, came from Adam’s side. Jesus’s open side is the bride purchased; washed in blood and water. The wounded side is the birthplace. The wounded side is the bride. When the priest came to the temple, he had to wash in both blood and water – a forerunner pointing the way to God. That is the miracle of the death of Jesus. Both together – sacrifice and cleansing in one.

Let the blood cover your guilt this day and let the water wash you clean. Only His wound can do it. Both came from His side. This is grace poured out for you. We take the bread and the blood; His body and His life-force.

God used that wound to open hearts from death to grace, forgiveness and love. Cancelled debt isn’t enough. You need the bill paid to be washed clean – a stream that cancels debt and washes at the same time. Crushed by guilt and exhausted by work – from one wound both sides are taken care of.

You don’t need to stay guilty, to strain for cleanliness. Blood without water means striving to stay clean and pure. You need both for your record to be cleansed, for the washing away in forgiveness. John’s eyewitness testimony fulfilled scripture and needs no embellishment. So, let us take now of the bread and the cup, for you are forgiven and washed clean, made new and whole.

 

The Eighth Day

“Entering the Eighth Day”

As we come to the Lord’s Table this morning, I want to invite you into a way of seeing that changes everything — a way of living that Jesus Himself opened for us through His death and resurrection. Scripture says, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has passed away, behold, the new has come.” (2 Corinthians 5:17).  

This is not poetic exaggeration, it’s the announcement of a new world; a new way of being.  

The early church had a name for this new reality. They called it The Eighth Day — the day beyond days, the day that began when Christ stepped out of the tomb and lived forever. The Eighth Day is resurrection life. It’s the life we remember and receive at the Communion Table.

Communion is not merely a ritual, it’s a threshold. A moment where the seven‑day world — the world of pressure, fear, limitation, and circumstance — gives way to the Eighth Day, the world where Christ reigns and resurrection defines reality.

When we take the bread and the cup, we are not simply remembering what Jesus did.  

We are entering the life He opened.  

We are stepping into the day He created.  

We are aligning ourselves with the dimension He now inhabits.

And that dimension isn’t far away. It’s not mystical, not reserved for the spiritually elite. It’s the Kingdom — and the Kingdom is within you.

Communion reminds us of this. It re‑centres us in this and re‑awakens us to this. Because in the seven‑day world, circumstances shout, but in the Eighth Day, identity whispers. And the Table is where the whisper becomes louder than the shout.

Here, it’s as if Christ is saying: “This is who you are. This is where you belong. This is the life you carry and the world you now live in.” When we take the bread, we remember His body — broken not only to forgive us, but to recreate us. When we take the cup, we remember His blood — poured out not only to cleanse us, but to make us new.

Communion is the meal of new creation. It is the feast of the Eighth Day. Communion is the reminder that resurrection is not an event we recall, but a dimension we inhabit.

 

And so today, as we prepare our hearts, I want to invite you to bring your seven‑day burdens — the places where you feel stuck, behind, overwhelmed, or defeated — and hold them gently before the Lord. Because in the Eighth Day, dead things become seed. Delays become preparation. Weakness becomes doorway. What looks impossible becomes invitation. Communion is where we take it all in.

Jesus Himself said, “This is My body, which is broken for you; do this in remembrance of Me… This cup is the new covenant in My blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of Me.” (1 Corinthians 11:24–25).

The new covenant.  

The new creation.  

The new day.  

The Eighth Day.

So as we come to the Table, let us step out of the seven‑day world. Let’s step out of fear, out of rush and hurry. Let’s step out of striving and out of the belief that we are defined by our circumstances.

And let us step into the Eighth Day — the day where Christ reigns, where resurrection breathes, where identity governs, where the ordinary becomes sacred, and where our story is threaded with redemption.

Come to the Table. Come to the day beyond days. Come and receive the life Jesus opened for you. Amen.

Anointed Discernment

The anointing of God and the power to discern.

1. Read your word daily. Listen and work with Him.

 

2. Spend time with God; quality time, not rushed time. 

3. Spend time with Jesus. Sit with Him, ask nothing but enjoy His presence.

4. Repent – often.

5. Be still before the Lord. Sit quietly and wait. 

6. Pray in tongues, regularly. The longer and more frequent, the better.

7. Speak only positive. Speak out loud. No criticism. No negativity.

8. Welcome Holy Spirit. Ask questions about Him. Get to know Him.

9. Study the great generals of the faith who’ve gone before us. 

10. You get the ‘healing anointing’ by praying for the sick.

11. Put action to your faith. What is God showing you – do it. 

12. Touch base frequently. Make a deliberate point of contact. 

13. Give God the glory; always praise Him. Never take the glory for yourself.

14. Study and meditate on the word. Don’t rush through it. 

15. Develop a deep hunger and fervour, for God, for His word. 

16. Remain with Him constantly. Look up at every opportunity. 

17. Don’t step into areas you know He won’t like.

18. Put on the ‘anointing;’ break into joy - song will draw you out of mire. 

19. Before taking action, ask two questions;

What do You want me to know? 

What do You want me to do?

One more question I like to include is; God, is there a way to do this that I don’t know about? This in particular for a situation that you don’t know how to handle or which way to go. 

The First Miracle - The Wedding Feast.

The First Miracle - The Wedding Feast.

We’ve all heard of Jesus turning water into wine; His first miracle. But what if that’s not the main point of the story? What if the story is more than a caterer running short, or the miraculous change of liquid states? 

John 2:6 reads; Now there were set there six water-pots of stone, according to the manner of purification of the Jews, containing twenty to thirty gallons apiece. 

John describes the containers; six stone jars, holding 20 to 30 gallons, for Jewish purification. He recorded this on purpose. Why stone and not clay, after all, clay was lighter and much more affordable? Clay jars were a ‘one time only use’ because the clay quickly became contaminated whereas stone didn’t. Once used, clay was discarded. Wine; a fine drink for a pure vessel, not for a vessel which contaminates easily. 

A little side note; the water turned to wine on the third day of the feast. That’s a bit of a hint that things aren’t as they seem. Water to wine was where law met grace; ceremonial washing to the blood of the Saviour. This was a wedding, a ceremony with food, wine and dance. 

When the host runs out of wine, Mary brings the problem to Jesus (the starting place for all our problems). Jesus tells Mary, His hour has not yet come. He’s talking of His hour at the cross. Mary ignores Jesus’ remark and says to the servants to ‘do whatever He tells you.’ Mary doesn’t know what Jesus is going to do but she knows Him and puts the problem into His hands – just as we should.

Stone jars are expensive, heavy and harder to make than clay. When it comes to vessels, materials matter. Stone is safe, permanent, perpetually pure. It’s a ceremonially acceptable and unchanging vessel of the old way. 

Why six stones and not seven? Why didn’t John just say some stone jars? Why be this precise? Seven is considered the number of completion - six is one less. Six is almost but not quite. It’s a state of ‘not finished yet.’ The external washing, endless and every day, never quite able to finish the job. And never internal. Ceremonial washing was always external; hands, face, feet – never internal. Never reaching deep enough. External washing cannot cleanse the internal.

Jesus didn’t get rid of the Jews old system, the law. Jesus told the servants to fill the jars with water to the brim. He doesn’t destroy what was but fills the jars with what is and not only fills them but fills them to the brim. He didn’t come to abolish but to fulfil, to bring to completion that which wasn’t complete. He takes those six jars of incompletion and brought them to fulfilment. The old was holy and not to be done away with. The transaction is complete by what is now held inside; wine. 

Jesus tells the servants to draw some out and take to the master of the feasts. The water has become wine; the drink of the new marriage covenant. Wine; the initial point of what was to come; the blood poured out. A transformation of washing externally to washing internally. The old and the new in one moment. 

Endless washing now transfigured into grace by the wine, into a new covenant. Not a new disconnected religion but an addition from old to new. The Master of Ceremonies has no idea what’s happened. He told the host, you’ve kept the best, the good wine, for last. Normally good wine is used first and old wine last. Here, the old went first and the good kept for last because this is a holy occasion.

The best is ahead. The marriage supper is still to come. The servants knew where the wine came from, not the Master of Ceremonies, nor the host. The servants had the miracle in their hands, not the elites, but the lowly servants and the disciples were there to witness it. 

John 2:11 reads; This beginning of signs Jesus did in Cana of Galilee, and manifested His glory, and His disciples believed in Him. 

The first sign Jesus did manifested His glory and the disciples believed in Him. The first sign is the headline of what is to follow, of turning the six into seven, of the almost complete to completion. Turning law into grace. 

It’s the bridegroom’s responsibility not to run out of wine. Today, Jesus is the bridegroom. He provides the wine which never runs dry. It is His hour. In this story, you feel the weight of the wine pointing the way to the cross. A forecast of what was to come. The fulfilment, the completion, the good wine kept to last. Jesus, our bridegroom, once and for all time. 

The Five Books of Psalms.

Have you noticed that The Psalms are divided into five books? Why are the Psalms divided as such? The short answer: The Psalms are divided into five books because ancient Israel shaped the Psalter to mirror the five books of Moses — the Torah — and to guide worshippers through a spiritual journey from lament to praise. But that’s only the surface. Let me give you the deeper, layered explanation.

The core reason the Psalter mirrors the Torah is because ancient Jewish tradition understood the Psalms as a kind of “second Torah” — not law, but instruction of the heart. So the editors shaped the final form of the Psalter into five books, echoing: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy.

This wasn’t accidental. It was a theological statement; a statement of what someone believes about God – their religious beliefs: “As the Torah forms the life of the people, so the Psalms form the inner life of the people.” The Psalms become the prayer-book that corresponds to the lawbook.

The themes of the five books each have their own emotional and theological system.

Here’s the shape: Book I (Psalms 1–41) Theme: Personal lament, trust, and the rise of David. This is the “Genesis” of the Psalter — beginnings, foundations, identity.

Book II (Psalms 42–72) Theme: Longing for God, conflict, and the hope for a righteous king. This mirrors “Exodus” — movement, struggle, deliverance.

Book III (Psalms 73–89) Theme: Crisis — national collapse, exile, theological disorientation. This is the “Numbers” wilderness season of the Psalter.

Book IV (Psalms 90–106) Theme: God’s kingship, God’s eternity, human frailty. This parallels “Deuteronomy” — returning to God, remembering who He is.

Book V (Psalms 107–150) Theme: Restoration, thanksgiving, and escalating praise. This is the “Promised Land” of the Psalter — ending in a short hymn; an expression of praise to God. The structure itself is a spiritual journey.

Why the division matters: The five-book structure isn’t just literary; it’s pastoral. It guides the people safely to the other side of the storm. It teaches that: Faith has seasons. Lament belongs in worship. Crisis is not the end of the story. Praise is the final word.

The Psalter moves through each: Lament → Trust → Crisis → Renewal → Praise. This is the arc of a human life with God.

The historical reason The Psalms were collected over the centuries is because The Psalms weren’t written all at once. They were written by different authors, from different eras and used in different worship settings. They were compiled in stages.

The five-book division preserves older collections inside the larger one:

- “Psalms of David”

- “Psalms of Asaph”

- “Sons of Korah”

- “Songs of Ascents”

- “Hallelujah Psalms”

Each book ends with a doxology; a short worship song showing the end of a collection.

The deepest layer of the Psalter is the journey of the soul. The five books trace the movement of a believer’s inner life: 1. Orientation — God is good, life makes sense. 2. Disorientation — suffering, confusion, exile. 3. Reorientation — God restores, renews, resurrects.

There is a pattern embedded in the ancient structure of these verses. The Psalter is not random. It is a spiritual formation manual and we all have the privilege of reading through the pattern and adjusting our life accordingly. The word, from cover to cover, is amazingly scripted. The word become flesh, amazingly sacred.

In honour of that Word made flesh, Jesus Christ, let’s now take of the emblems; His body broken, His blood shed, in remembrance of all that He did on the Cross that we might have life and have life abundantly. 

Lord we thank You for Your great and ineffable sacrifice. We repent of our sins and honour You in this moment and from this day forward. Praise be the name of the Lord.