It was January 10, 2017. I clicked the link, mostly out of curiosity to see where my head was at half a decade prior. I expected maybe a grocery list or a complaint about the weather. Instead, I stared at a single, terrifying sentence that I had typed into the digital void:
"My gospel is to the lukewarm."
That sentence didn't just come from my own intellect. It was a marker, a memorial stone of a supernatural encounter that had happened the night before I wrote it, which itself was a confirmation of something that happened way back in December 2011. Reading it again, the air in my room seemed to change. The memory washed over me, not as a fading recollection, but as a fresh fire. It wasn't just a journal entry; it was a mandate.
We live in a time where we want everything easy. We want a drive-thru Jesus and a microwave salvation. But looking at that screen, I remembered the weight of the Spirit that fell on me when I first received that word. It is a burden I still carry, and frankly, it is the fuel behind everything I do at ConradRocks.Net. My passion is for you to have a spiritual relationship with the biblical Jesus—not the cultural caricature we see on television, but the King of Kings.
And to find Him, we have to talk about the temperature of our hearts.
Let me take you back to December 2011. I wasn't sitting politely in a pew; I was in my living room, pacing the floor. I was walking around praying like a madman.
Now, when I say I was praying in the Spirit, I need to clarify something because we have a lot of theology that gets in the way of reality. People often think "praying in the Spirit" exclusively means praying in tongues. While that is a valid manifestation, think about John the Revelator. In Revelation 1:10, he says, I was in the Spirit on the Lord's day. He wasn't necessarily speaking in tongues; he was positioned in a spiritual state where the carnal mind—that critiquing, doubting, logical part of our brain—was suspended.
That is where I was. I was walking, seeking the face of God, bypassing my own understanding. The carnal mind cannot understand the things of God because they are spiritually discerned. I was just open, a vessel waiting to be filled.
Suddenly, words bypassed my brain and came straight out of my mouth. I heard myself say them as if I were a bystander in the room:
"My gospel is to the lukewarm."
I stopped walking. The words hung in the air. This wasn't a thought I had concocted. It was a Rhema word—a spoken, living word from God. It has happened to me a few times in my life, where the Spirit overtakes me and speaks something that my mind has to scramble to catch up with later.
I am reminded of another time this happened, which helps explain why this "lukewarm" mandate is so critical. I was preparing to lead worship at a church for the very first time. I take the presence of God seriously. I believe if we are going to usher in the King of Glory, we better be clean. We better be desperate.
I was fasting and praying in my house before the service. I was telling the Lord, "God, I don't want to perform. I don't want this to be a show." I was grieving over how much of the modern church service has turned into a spectator sport—lights, fog, and people on a stage facing the audience rather than everyone facing God.
As I was praying, the Spirit overtook me again. My mouth opened, and I shouted:
"Entertainment gets your head chopped off!"
I stood there, blinking. What? My carnal mind tried to process it. "Entertainment gets your head chopped off?" That sounds crazy. But then, the revelation downloaded into my spirit instantly.
I saw Herod. I saw the party. I saw the entertainment—the dancing girl, Salome, mesmerizing the king and the guests. The devil wiggled his way into Herod's entertainment room, and because Herod was caught up in the show, he made a foolish vow. The result? John the Baptist's head on a platter.
The greatest prophet born of women lost his head because of worldly entertainment.
Do you see the connection? When we are lukewarm, when we are merely entertained by church rather than changed by it, we lose our heads. We lose our spiritual discernment. We stop thinking with the mind of Christ and start reacting to the beat of the culture. That journal entry from 2017 wasn't just a memory; it was a warning. My gospel is to the lukewarm because the lukewarm are in the most danger—they think they are safe inside the house when they are actually about to be spit out.
This brings me to the fruit we see today. I have a passion for you to know Jesus, not just know about Him. There is a massive difference. You can know all the stats about a celebrity, but if you show up at their front door, they are going to call the police because they don't have a relationship with you.
God led me to an article from the Washington Post regarding the 115th Congress. I remember looking at the stats and thinking, "You have got to be kidding me." The article stated that 91% of Congress identifies as Christian.
Think about that for a second. Ninety-one percent.
The article went on to say that this percentage has barely wavered in the last 50 years. We have gone from "Leave it to Beaver" to "Desperate Housewives," from a culture that at least nodded toward morality to one that celebrates confusion, yet the "Christian" statistic in our leadership remains unchanged.
If 91% of our leaders are followers of Jesus Christ, why does the fruit of our nation look like Sodom?
It is because we have redefined what a Christian is. We have bought into a "sinner's prayer" theology that inoculates people against the truth. We tell people, "Just say these words, close your eyes, raise your hand, and you're good for eternity." There is no call to repent. There is no command to take up a cross. There is no Lordship.
We have people who said a prayer ten years ago, live like the devil today, and think they are heading to heaven. They are looking to politicians to save them because they don't know how to seek the face of God themselves.
We are looking for a political solution to a spiritual problem. We want to vote the right people in, assuming that since 91% of them claim to be Christians, they will fix it. But the Bible gives us a different prescription for healing a land.
If my people, which are called by my name, will humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land. (2 Chronicles 7:14 KJV)
Notice the order. Humble. Pray. Seek His face. Turn from wicked ways. It doesn't say "Vote for the guy who claims to be a Christian."
In my book, Open Your Eyes, I talk about how the supernatural realm is more real than the physical one. When there was a famine in the days of David, he didn't form a committee. He inquired of the Lord. He asked, "Why is this happening?" And God told him it was because of a broken covenant involving Saul and the Gibeonites. David had to make it right spiritually before the physical famine could end.
We are in a spiritual famine, and we are trying to fix it with carnal tools. We are lukewarm. We have one foot in the world and one foot in the church, and we wonder why we have no power.
I have to be honest with you—I missed this for a long time. Back in the 90s, I had a realization that shook me. I found myself humming commercial jingles. I knew the "Big Mac" song. I knew the sitcom theme songs. I could quote lines from movies perfectly.
But I couldn't quote the Word of God.
I realized I was being programmed. I was being conformed to this world. The apostle Paul begs us:
And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. (Romans 12:2 KJV)
The word "transformed" there is metamorphoo—metamorphosis. It's the caterpillar becoming the butterfly. It is a complete change of nature. But instead of metamorphosis, we are settling for camouflage. We look like the world, talk like the world, and entertain ourselves like the world, but we slap a "Christian" bumper sticker on our car and think we are safe.
I don't want to be vomit. It sounds harsh, but that is the language Jesus used. He didn't say, "If you are lukewarm, I will be disappointed." He said:
So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth. (Revelation 3:16 KJV)
This is why my gospel is to the lukewarm. The cold know they are cold. The hot are on fire. But the lukewarm? They are comfortable. They are the ones in the most danger because they think they are already saved.
When the Lord gave me this mandate, I started reading the Bible with fresh eyes. I stopped reading it through the lens of modern church tradition and started reading what the text actually says. It scared the daylights out of me.
We love to quote John 3:16, but we ignore Matthew 7.
Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it. (Matthew 7:14 KJV)
Few. Not "most." Not "91% of Congress." Few.
Jesus continues in that same chapter to destroy the idea that a verbal profession alone is enough.
Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven. (Matthew 7:21 KJV)
This is the verse that keeps me up at night. These people aren't atheists. They aren't enemies of the cross. They are calling Him "Lord." They are active in ministry! Look at their defense:
Many will say to me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in thy name? and in thy name have cast out devils? and in thy name done many wonderful works? (Matthew 7:22 KJV)
They are prophesying. They are casting out devils. They are doing miracles. And yet, look at the response of Jesus:
And then will I profess unto them, I never knew you: depart from me, ye that work iniquity. (Matthew 7:23 KJV)
"I never knew you." That is the key. It’s about relationship. It’s about knowing Him, not just working for Him. The Greek word for "know" there implies intimacy. It's not intellectual assent.
If Jesus is truly your Lord, you do what He says. Luke 6:46 asks, And why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?
It is a contradiction to call Him Lord and refuse to submit to His mission. We are supposed to submit to God. That word "submit" is a military term. It means to get under the mission. We are like a submarine—sub-mission. We go under His orders.
If you are feeling the heat of this message, don't run from it. That heat is the love of God trying to wake you up. Here is what we need to grasp:
I realize this is a heavy word. But I deliver it because I love you, and more importantly, God loves you too much to let you sleepwalk off a cliff. My gospel is to the lukewarm because I was there. I was the guy knowing more jingles than scripture. I was the guy seeking comfort over the cross.
But God, in His mercy, met me on my living room floor. He woke me up. And He wants to wake you up too.
We need to turn off the tube and turn on Jesus. We need to fast and pray—two things that have almost disappeared from the American church. When was the last time you missed a meal to seek God for a breakthrough? If we aren't willing to push away a plate, how serious are we really?
Let's rise up, Team Jesus. Let's be the few who find the narrow gate. Let's refuse to be vomited out.
If this post stirred something in your spirit, don't let the feeling fade. Act on it. Share this with someone who needs a wake-up call. Subscribe to the blog at ConradRocks.Net so we can keep digging deeper and going higher together.
It is a bone-chilling cold. The kind of cold that hurts your face if you stand in it too long. And as I sit here, warm and safe, the Holy Spirit begins to agitate my spirit. It is that familiar tug—the one that says comfort is not the calling. There are people out there right now, shivering in thin nylon windbreakers, charging their phones on public outlets just to stay connected to a world that has largely forgotten them.
We often sit in our prayer closets crying, "Oh Lord, woe is me," focusing on our own internal struggles, when the quickest path to healing our own souls is to step out and bring healing to someone else. I have found that when we stop focusing on our own lack and start addressing the lack in others, the Kingdom of God shows up in ways that defy our theology and our expectations.
This weekend, that lesson came wrapped in a scarf made from a dollar-store blanket and a bowl of chili prophesied by a man who doesn’t even believe prophecy exists anymore.
We knew the freeze was coming. Early in the week, Susan and I looked at the forecast and saw those plummeting numbers. It is easy to look at a weather report and just turn up your own thermostat, but when you have a heart for the harvest, a freeze warning is a deployment order.
Jesus didn’t just preach to souls; He fed bodies. I was reminded of the time the multitudes followed Him into the wilderness. They had been with Him three days, and He had compassion on them because they were hungry. He didn't want to send them away fainting. There was a physical need that had to be met before the spiritual dismissal.
I realized that this weekend, there was going to be an absence of warmth. And while I am not saying we are the saviors of the world, I knew we could help them be warm while we talked to them about the One who saves.
We had been inspired by a memory that popped up on my Facebook feed from "Merge Memphis." Years ago, on a rainy day, a woman named Sherry showed us how to make these little goodie bags for the homeless—wool caps, gloves, simple necessities. We met a lady named Valerie there who taught us a "Kingdom key" of economics: you can take a fleece blanket from Walmart, use some scissors and thread, and create high-quality scarves for about a dollar a piece.
So, armed with scissors, fabric, and a desire to be the hands and feet of Jesus, we prepared for the cold.
Before heading to the park where we knew the homeless gathered, we made a run to the dollar store. We wanted to stock up because there is a terrible, sinking feeling you get when you run out of supplies while a line of people is still standing there. You never want to look into the eyes of the last person in line and say, "I have nothing left for you."
We were wearing our "Hashtag Jesus" shirts. These aren't subtle. They are bold conversation starters. I had layers of thermal gear underneath mine to stay warm, but the message was on the outside. As we were walking in, a couple stopped us.
"Hey, like your shirt," the man said.
Now, the flesh wants to say, "Thanks, dude," and keep walking to get out of the cold. But the Spirit said, engage. I asked him, "What is your relationship with Jesus?"
That one question turned a passing compliment into a sidewalk church service. We stood there in the freezing wind, exchanging ideas, linking arms in the spirit, and making what I call a "Kingdom Connection." Too often in the Body of Christ, we practice a "catch and release" system. We meet someone, bless them, and let them swim away. But we need to be jointly fit together. I gave him my card, we connected, and we united the body right there in the parking lot.
But the real surprise waited for us inside.
We ran into a man named Dean. Now, I have met Dean many times at Pascagoula Beach Park. He is a scholar of the Word, a man who can quote theology and discuss the Bible for hours. But Dean is also a cessationist.
For those who might not know, a cessationist believes that the supernatural gifts of the Spirit—prophecy, tongues, healing—ceased with the death of the apostles. They believe God stopped speaking in those direct, supernatural ways comfortably long ago.
I call Dean my "hit-and-run mentor" because despite our theological differences, iron sharpens iron. We were talking, getting excited about helping people, and he was giving us ideas on where to buy supplies. As we were leaving and loading the truck, Dean drove by, rolled down his window, and shouted a question that seemed completely random.
"Do you know where I can get some really good chili?"
We paused. It was freezing cold. We were talking about gloves and hats. And suddenly, chili?
Susan immediately piped up, "Oh, Wendy's, man! Wendy's has great chili and it's cheap."
Dean nodded and drove off. It seemed like a throwaway comment. It bugged Susan more than it bugged me. Why would he ask that? But we shrugged it off and headed to the park, not realizing that the cessationist had just given us a word of knowledge that would guide the rest of our night.
When we arrived at the park, it was a ghost town. It was so cold that even the homeless people, who usually hang out in the sunny spots during the day, were in hiding.
We eventually spotted a head bobbing up and down behind a concrete barrier near the skate park. It was William.
I have talked about William before. He is a man in his sixties who has fallen through the cracks of society. He is like a grandfather figure to the local skater kids. He espouses wisdom to them, and in return, they look out for him—they even gave him a bicycle once so he wouldn't have to walk everywhere.
William was shivering. He had a jacket, but his head was bare, and his hands were freezing. We were able to give him a wool cap, gloves, and one of those homemade fleece scarves. You could see the relief wash over him physically.
We prayed with him, and I couldn't help but think of the starfish story. You know the one—a boy is throwing starfish back into the ocean one by one. An old man tells him, "Son, there are thousands of them. You can't possibly make a difference." The boy tosses another one in and says, "I made a difference to that one."
William was our starfish. We couldn't warm the whole city, but William was warm.
While we were ministering to William, I saw a skinny girl walking aggressively fast down the street nearby. She was wearing thin sweatpants and a light shirt—completely inadequate for the weather. She looked like she was fleeing something, or maybe just walking fast to generate body heat.
By the time we finished with William, she was gone. She had vanished down the street, and we lost her.
We got back in the truck, and we did what we always do—we asked the Boss for directions. "Lord, where do You want us to go?"
The answer didn't make sense. I felt a pull toward Pascagoula Beach Park. Now, logically, this was foolish. That park is right on the water. It is the coldest, windiest place you could possibly go, and nobody hangs out there during a freeze.
But we have learned that when the logic of the mind conflicts with the witness of the Spirit, you follow the Spirit.
We drove toward the beach, which required us to cut through a very rough neighborhood. I am talking about a place where you lock your doors and keep moving. And there, walking down the side of the road, was the skinny girl. Her name was Brandy.
"Susan, stop the truck."
We rolled down the window. "Hey, could you use some scarves and a wool cap?"
Her face lit up. "Yes!"
We pulled over in the middle of this dangerous neighborhood. I could feel the eyes of the community on us. People were watching from porches and windows, wondering what these people in the "Jesus" shirts were doing.
Brandy was shaking. We gave her the warm gear, gave her some snacks, and then we began to minister.
We try to give people what I call "Kingdom Keys." It is written in Hosea 4:6, "My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge." Often, people are in terrible pits because they lack the specific knowledge or wisdom to get out. They blame the government, their ex-spouses, or their bad luck.
Brandy had a story, like they all do. But as we stood there in the cold, we didn't just give her a scarf; we gave her presence. Presence evangelism is powerful. Sometimes you don't need a sermon; you just need to bring the presence of the Holy Spirit into their atmosphere.
We prayed for her. I asked the Lord to show her the truth of her situation. We waited in silence—just thirty seconds of quiet. Suddenly, her head lifted. She gasped, "Oh my." She saw it. The Holy Spirit convicted and revealed something to her that my words never could have.
As we drove away, watching her wrap that scarf tighter around her neck, I realized something profound. If we had not listened to the illogical instruction to go to the empty beach park, we never would have driven down that specific street. We never would have found Brandy.
And here is the kicker: she had walked past four massive church buildings to get there. All of them were locked tight. We, the living church, had to meet her in the street because the brick-and-mortar church had closed its doors against the cold.
We went home to warm up and nap, but Susan could not let go of the chili comment.
"Dean asked about chili," she kept saying. "Maybe we should start a chili ministry. Maybe we should buy dollar chilies and take them to the forest."
"Dude, calm down with the chili thing," I told her.
But I realized I hadn't thawed anything for dinner. So, almost by default, we decided to go to Wendy's. The same Wendy's Dean had asked about.
As we walked in, I saw him. A man sitting in a booth, looking utterly defeated. He had taken his shoes off and placed them on the counter—a sign that he was trying to dry them out or warm his feet. He was wearing a windbreaker and a jogging outfit in 20-degree weather.
He was limping.
I knew instantly we were supposed to talk to him. His name was Michael. He went outside for a moment, leaving his shoes, so I followed him.
Michael was broken. He had a dispute with a family member—a fight so severe that he was willing to freeze on the streets rather than resolve it, or perhaps the family member was willing to let him freeze. It made me think of how we treat people. We feel guilty dropping a dog off in the woods, yet we let human beings, created in the image of God, freeze over relational offenses.
We brought Michael out to the truck. We didn't have much left, but we had enough. We bundled him up. We prayed over him. There were tears—manly tears, but tears nonetheless.
"How did you know?" he asked us. "How did you know I needed this?"
I looked at him and thought about the sovereignty of God.
"God feeds the sparrows," I told him. "He feeds the crows. The rain falls on the just and the unjust. It doesn't matter who was wrong in the argument right now. Jesus wants you warm."
We found out there was a business across the street letting him stay warm for a bit, but he was slipping through the cracks of the system. We did what we could, gave him resources, and pointed him toward safety.
As we sat there eating our chili afterwards, Susan looked at me. "The chili," she whispered.
She was right. Dean, the cessationist—the man who believes God stopped speaking to people in Acts—had been used by the Holy Spirit to guide us to Michael. If Dean hadn't asked that weird question, and if Susan hadn't fixated on it, we would have eaten at home. Michael would have remained cold.
I learned something powerful this weekend about the humor and relentlessness of God. He will use anyone to get His will accomplished. He used a "hashtag Jesus" shirt to open a door at a dollar store. He used an illogical urge to drive to an empty beach to find a girl in a bad neighborhood. And He used a cessationist to prophesy a dinner appointment with a homeless man at Wendy's.
It reminded me of the verse in James 5:16 (KJV), "Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed."
When we went out to heal others—to warm William, Brandy, and Michael—we were the ones who got healed. My own spiritual apathy was broken off. The coldness in my own heart was replaced by the fire of God's compassion.
I also realized we need to be better prepared. It is not enough to just say "God bless you." We need to know where the shelters are. We need to know the laws about driver's licenses for the homeless. We need to be wise as serpents and harmless as doves.
Throughout this adventure, the Word of God was coming alive:
We made a difference to a few "starfish" this weekend. We didn't solve homelessness in our city. We didn't empty the shelters. But William has a hat. Brandy has a scarf. Michael knows that God sees him.
And I learned that God is speaking all the time—through Facebook memories, through weather forecasts, and yes, even through bowls of chili.
I want to encourage you to dig deeper and go higher. Don't just listen to the podcast; become the podcast. step out of your warm house and find someone who needs the warmth of Jesus.
Until we meet again, dig deeper and go higher at ConradRocks.net.
