Introduction
Our divine calling, as ordained by our Father in heaven, is not merely to win the lost—but to do the will of the Father. This truth stands for all people, including those who serve as missionaries. Everything begins in God, and everything finds its completion in Him. He is the Alpha and the Omega, the origin and the fulfillment of all things.
In the natural realm, all things shift and fade. Ambitions evolve, goals are redefined, ideas and thoughts change like the wind. Yet in Christ, nothing changes. In Him we find steadfastness, victory, and unity. In Him we are made whole—no longer immature or tossed about by every wave of doctrine, but anchored in divine stability.
“…until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.” Ephesians 4:13 (ESV)
We reach our true goal only by following Christ on His path to Jerusalem. It was the will of the Father that Jesus go there—to die. It is likewise the Father’s will for us. For in Jerusalem, Jesus fulfilled the Father’s purpose upon the Cross. So must we meet the will of God upon our own cross; otherwise, we cannot share true fellowship with Him.
A sobering truth indeed—yet one filled with eternal hope.
How
To those who are weary and broken, the cross can seem almost inviting. For those who have reached the end of themselves, who live in shadows of despair, death appears as an escape—and tragically, many take that path by their own hand.
Yet there is another kind of soul, one not yet crushed by life’s burdens. For them, all seems well. Comfort shields them from questioning; success dulls their sense of need. Why die? Why change? Life feels good. But the end of their road may not be as bright as the path they now walk. The journey they choose will testify to the reward they ultimately receive.
Many among them have heard the Gospel, but few have truly encountered the immensity of the Father’s love. This love is not mild or ordinary—it is fierce, relentless, and boundless beyond comprehension. So vast, so extravagant, that it appears unreal, even impossible: Who could love like this? And yet He does. We—mankind, the work of His own hands—are pursued and embraced by a love that overwhelms every boundary.
This love is not earned. It is not deserved. We have rebelled, we have wounded, we have done unspeakable things—yet His love does not waver. We falter, not because His love weakens, but because we cannot bring ourselves to believe it will still be there after our failures. And so, too often, we give up. But even then, His love remains.
Jerusalem
When Jesus entered Jerusalem, He did so knowing that death awaited Him. Yet still, He entered. It was the will of His Father, the path ordained for His life.
Each of us, too, has a journey that leads to our own Jerusalem — a place of surrender, a crossroads of destiny where we must decide whether to enter or turn away. That moment of decision is never easy, for it always demands change — and change, by its nature, is a struggle. Yet it is through change that transformation comes. Deep within, the voice of Christ calls to us, “Go up to Jerusalem.” But too often, we fail to recognize that voice, for we have not yet become part of His pasture — one of His flock, one of His sheep who know His call.
We like to imagine that one journey to Jerusalem will suffice, but in truth, we are called to make that journey again and again. Unlike Jesus, who died once for all, we must die to ourselves many times. Each death to self is painful. Each surrender wrestles with fear, pride, and doubt. Our minds fill with questions: Do I really need to change? Can I delay it? Must it be now? It’s too hard. I’m not ready. I’m ashamed. And so our spirit and our will contend — a holy battle with what we call the conscience.
But pause and ask yourself: when you talk to yourself, who is speaking — and who is listening? Which voice do you obey? Here lies a mystery of the soul. We are body, mind, and spirit — and for those who are in Christ, it is Holy Spirit who leads. Our bodies become His tabernacle, His dwelling place on Earth. The more room we give Him within us, the more our conscience aligns with His voice — and the more we can trust the still, small whisper that calls us ever upward… “Go up to Jerusalem.”
The Journey
Our destination is always Jerusalem — death. The phrase “Up to Jerusalem” captures not only a direction but a pilgrimage, a climb through life’s winding paths and countless detours. Though the word death may sound foreboding to some, in truth, it marks a moment of triumph. We’ve arrived.
The death I speak of is not the end of life, but the end of self. It is not destruction, but release. When Adam and Eve fell in the garden, they did not die physically, yet something within them perished — their spiritual connection with God. From that moment, humanity inherited the weight of this separation, a burden passed down through every generation. We carry it until, at last, we reach our own Jerusalem and die to self — the sacred death that gives birth to true life.
This death is the shedding of the albatross that has hung upon our souls since Eden — the sin that haunts us from birth. As Coleridge wrote in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner:
“Ah! well a-day! What evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.”
But now, our journey turns — from the albatross back to the Cross.
Here the true pilgrimage begins: not toward death as an ending, but toward death as a doorway — the threshold of redemption, resurrection, and life eternal.
A New Dimension
The natural world came first, and through it, we have learned how to navigate a life apart from God. Generations of instruction and experience have filled our minds and hearts with patterns of thought and behavior that are deeply ingrained—habits difficult to unlearn. Yet by God’s grace—and by His relentless pursuit—we are invited into a new dimension: the realm of the Spirit.
This mysterious twilight zone is unlike anything we have known. Its laws and principles differ entirely from those of the natural world. In the material realm, we are taught a universal law of space and time: two objects cannot occupy the same space at once. But what of the spirit world, where body, mind, and spirit converge in the same space? Where do we find the indwelling Holy Spirit, and how does He dwell within us?
We encounter other truths that, while familiar in Scripture, seem equally extraordinary. To receive, we must first give. To be first, we must be last. What seems backward in the natural becomes normative in this higher reality. In this “twilight zone,” the improbable becomes ordinary, and opposites coexist in harmony.
Understanding this demands that we abandon natural thinking when engaging with the supernatural. A lifetime of natural logic and perception becomes a challenge on the journey upward—toward Jerusalem, toward God—requiring a radical reorientation of the mind, heart, and spirit.
Natural Thinking
All my life, I believed that the greatest sufferings of Jesus, as He entered Jerusalem, were the pain, rejection, torture, and crucifixion He would endure. What a terrible death that must have been—or so I thought. But that was natural thinking. His agony was not confined to the physical, nor were His tears at Gethsemane and His anguish on Calvary rooted merely in the dread of human death. This kind of thinking is worldly and shallow. His suffering was far deeper—spiritual in nature, divine in scope.
The truest pain He bore was not the nails, nor the thorns, nor the scourge, but the moment the Father turned away. His greatest grief was knowing that, even after His sacrifice, countless souls would still reject Him—choosing darkness over light, and eternal separation over the embrace of His love. How do I know this? Because His final words still echo through eternity: “Father, forgive them.”
This truth has opened my eyes. I must lay aside natural thinking whenever I approach spiritual realities. Natural reasoning cannot grasp the things of God—it must give way to spiritual understanding. This is true when reading His Word, when interceding for others, and in every act of asking, seeking, and knocking. For we are not being trained for the natural realm, but for the spiritual one—the realm of eternity.
Summary
I’ve often daydreamed of being an assassin for the Lord. With His permission, I can take out these hate mongers, Ayatollahs, politicians of sin, and persecutors of truth. The world would be such a better place without them. But, again, this is worldly thinking. Instead I’m told to love them, to pray for their souls and all those who persecute me.
My road up to Jerusalem is different from each of you reading this. You each have your own journey with its own set of unique problems and rewards. This journey up to Jerusalem is preparing us for something. It’s a training school unlike no other. We have a new set of rules, a new way of thinking, even a new realm in which to live – the realm of the supernatural, the spirit world, a twilight zone for the believer who, for every moment of every day, seeks to move and understand. In the end, our final destination there is a new, wonderful, full-time abode of life in this new world, a world of the supernatural we call heaven.
Conclusion
I cannot remove from my mind the immensity of the truth behind the Father’s Love. I can’t shake it. It haunts me. How can this be so? How can there be so much love? My travels, my existence, my very being is wrapped up in something I don’t understand yet must accept. This is not the way of the world for sure. Hate, evil, and concern for self abound. Yet, this love is all-consuming. It is as though there is a power that seeks out hate, evil, sin, and still says, “I love you.”
Pray: Father, open my heart to the depths of Your love—the perfect, unfailing love of the Father. I need it, Lord. And in my need, teach me how to extend that same love to others. Show me, guide me, Lord, how to love as You love—without condition, without hesitation. I need this love for the journey you have set before me. Alone, I fear I will falter; yet I take comfort that even if I fail, Your love remains steadfast. Thank You, Lord, for the gift of Your boundless love.
Enough Said
“Your words were found, and I ate them, and your words became to me a joy and the delight of my heart, for I am called by your name, O Lord, God of hosts.” Jeremiah 15:16 ESV
