Comfortable Around Fire
There is a danger that comes with proximity.
Not the danger of persecution. Not the danger of warfare. Not even the danger of false doctrine.
The greatest danger to a disciple is becoming familiar with glory.
There is something terrifying about the human tendency to normalize what heaven intended to leave us undone by. The soul has this tragic ability to take what once brought trembling and slowly reduce it into routine. What once provoked tears becomes expected. What once felt holy becomes background noise. What once caused awe becomes common.
And the death of discipleship begins the moment reverence leaves the room.
One of the most sobering moments in all of scripture happens in a garden called Gethsemane. Jesus takes Peter, James, and John deeper into the place of prayer. These were not random followers. These were the inner circle. These were the men who saw Jairus’ daughter raised from the dead. These were the men who stood on the Mount of Transfiguration and watched Jesus glow with another world’s brilliance. These were the men trusted with proximity.
And yet, in the hour where heaven was groaning and eternity was hanging in the balance, they fell asleep.
The tragedy is not merely that they slept.
The tragedy is that they slept in the presence of sorrowing glory.
Scripture says Jesus began to be exceedingly sorrowful, even unto death. Luke records that His sweat became as great drops of blood falling to the ground. The Son of God was travailing in prayer while the disciples were unconscious a few feet away.
How does that happen?
How do men who once left boats and nets to follow Jesus now fall asleep during the most sacred prayer meeting in history?
Comfort.
Somewhere along the journey, they became accustomed to what should have continued to undo them.
At one point, these men would have crawled across broken glass for one more moment near Jesus. In the early days, every miracle shattered them. Every sermon wrecked them. Every invitation into solitude with Him felt like the highest privilege on earth.
But familiarity slowly robbed them of wonder.
And familiarity is the assassin of reverence.
The church must hear this again.
You can sit around glory long enough that you stop recognizing it.
You can hear revelation so consistently that mystery no longer arrests your heart.
You can become so integrated into church culture that holy things stop feeling holy.
You can become a leader and lose your fear of God while still functioning in ministry.
Nothing is more dangerous than becoming professionally acquainted with the presence of God.
This is the silent disease eating away at discipleship in the modern church. We have normalized encounters. We have systemized presence. We have turned moments that should leave us trembling into weekly schedules we manage with casual familiarity.
People stroll into gatherings carrying coffee while glory is moving.
Conversations happen during worship.
Phones glow during moments where heaven is trying to speak.
Why?
Because what should be held in reverence has become common.
And whenever the holy becomes ordinary, the soul begins to decay.
and Abihu learned this the hard way when they offered strange fire before the Lord. Uzzah learned this when he touched the ark casually. Ananias and Sapphira learned this when they treated the atmosphere of the Spirit dishonestly.
God has never tolerated irreverence around glory.
Not because He is insecure.
But because irreverence destroys the human heart’s capacity to properly carry presence.
Peter, James, and John sleeping in Gethsemane is not just a story about tired disciples. It is a prophetic warning to every generation that walks closely with God.
You can know Him and still lose your awe of Him.
You can be chosen and still become casual.
You can hold position while losing posture.
And this is especially dangerous for leaders.
There is a unique temptation that comes with leadership in the body of Christ. The temptation is to begin handling sacred things without safeguarding sacred wonder. To preach sermons without trembling. To lead worship without tears. To counsel people without remaining broken before God yourself.
The greatest threat to leadership is not failure.
It is familiarity.
Saul lost his kingdom long before David took his throne. He lost it the moment he stopped treating obedience as holy.
Samson lost his strength before Delilah ever cut his hair. He lost it when the presence became so familiar that he assumed it would always remain.
The disciples slept because they assumed another moment would come.
But there are moments in God that do not repeat themselves.
There are invitations that carry eternal weight.
There are seasons where heaven comes close in unusual ways, and if we do not respond rightly, we miss what generations prayed for.
I fear much of the church is asleep in Gethsemane right now.
We are living in one of the most significant moments of spiritual hunger in modern history. There is a cry rising again for authentic presence. There is a generation tired of performance and starving for reality. God is drawing people back into prayer, back into holiness, back into devotion.
And yet, many who have been around church the longest are the least awake.
The ones who should be leading the charge into prayer are often numb through familiarity.
The ones who should be carrying fire are protecting comfort.
The ones who should be teaching reverence have learned how to function without it.
Jesus comes back to the disciples in Gethsemane and asks Peter one devastating question:
“Could you not watch with Me one hour?”
Notice He did not say, “Pray for the nations.”
He did not say, “Build a ministry.”
He did not say, “Change the world.”
He asked for companionship in prayer.
And they slept through it.
I wonder how often Jesus is still asking that question to His church.
Could you not watch with Me?
Could you not linger a little longer?
Could you not turn off the distractions?
Could you not treat My presence as precious again?
Could you not recover trembling?
We do not drift into revival accidentally.
We return through reverence.
The fire falls where honor exists.
The glory rests where awe survives.
And discipleship flourishes where Jesus remains worthy of extravagant attention.
This is why childlike wonder is not optional in the kingdom. The moment wonder dies, religion takes over. Everything becomes mechanical. Prayer becomes duty. Worship becomes routine. Scripture becomes informational rather than transformational.
But when reverence returns, suddenly every gathering feels weighty again.
Every scripture burns again.
Every whisper from the Spirit matters again.
You stop critiquing encounters and start surrendering in them.
You stop consuming church and start offering yourself on the altar again.
The early disciples once carried this kind of awe. After Pentecost, they did not casually steward glory. Acts says great fear came upon every soul. There was trembling attached to the move of God. There was holiness in the atmosphere. There was an understanding that God was among them.
And perhaps that is what we have lost.
Not excellence.
Not gifting.
Not resources.
Reverence.
We have lost the ability to stand before holy things and tremble.
But God is restoring it.
There is a remnant emerging that refuses to make common what heaven calls sacred. People who still weep in worship. People who still believe prayer meetings matter. People who still approach scripture like burning bread from another world. People who refuse to become casual with glory, no matter how many years they have walked with Jesus.
And I believe the Father is breathing on that company again.
Because heaven is attracted to hunger.
Not polished ministry.
Not celebrity.
Not charisma.
Hunger.
And hunger protects reverence because hungry people never assume they have mastered presence.
May God deliver the church from casual Christianity.
May He rescue leaders from professional familiarity.
May He wake sleeping disciples in Gethsemane.
And may awe return to the house of God until we once again tremble at His word, fall undone in His presence, and guard sacred things with holy fear.
Because the death of discipleship begins when glory becomes common.
But revival begins when reverence returns.
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