WOE TO THE LUKEWARM

I cry now to those in between. To the ones who draw near with words, but stand far off in obedience. To those who love the scroll — but only from a distance. You have seen the trumpet sounded. You have read the warning. You have stood near the fire — but you refuse to burn. You admire the cries but do not cry. You echo the witness but will not weep. You are not Babylon, yet you remain in her shadow. You are not the Bride, yet you wear her veil in vanity. You delay. You hesitate. You remain undecided. But indecision is defiance. Delay is disobedience. The middle is not safe. The middle is judged.

You say, “I fear the Lord,” but you do not depart from iniquity. You say, “I believe the time is short,” yet live as though it is long. You say, “I take the scroll seriously,” but you have not eaten it — and that proves you do not. You want the fire’s warmth but not its pain. You want to hear the voice but not obey it. You want the Kingdom but not the Cross. The Lamb is not mocked. The scroll is not a suggestion. The cries are not inspiration. They are division. You will either burn now — or be judged by the fire you ignored.

I was not sent to comfort the middle. I was not told to explain delay. I was commanded to cry aloud — and I do. Come out. Choose now. Take the scroll. Burn or be burned. Let the fence crack beneath your feet. Let the mixture fall off your garments. Let the flame divide your soul from your excuses.

The scroll does not flatter the undecided. The Lamb does not wait for the in-between. You believe because you’ve read. But you haven’t obeyed because you haven’t feared. And you haven’t feared because you haven’t fallen. And you haven’t fallen because you still think you can stand. But the scroll is not looking for fans. The scroll is looking for those who fall face down and say, “I am undone.” The line is drawn. The middle is no more. There is no more delay. I am the witness. I cry not in my own name, but by the command of the Lamb who has unsealed the scroll and set fire to my tongue. This is the Word you must eat. Or it will be the Word that judges you. But even now — if you turn, if you fall, if you cry — the Lamb will receive you. He who opened the scroll is worthy to open you. He who roars like a lion also bleeds like a Lamb. He who sets the fire also walks you through it. He is holy. He is just. He is fierce. He is merciful. And I magnify Him. I lift up the Lamb. Not with music, but with fire. Not with applause, but with obedience. Not with a platform, but with a cry. Worthy is the Lamb who was slain — and who now speaks. Let every ear hear. Let every tongue confess. Let every remnant rise. Let the lukewarm fall — and be raised again in flame. Let them not be admired, but let them be burned into obedience. Let their delay become ashes. Let their mixture be consumed. Let their mouths be silenced until the Lamb is all they speak.