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The Church Set Ablaze in a Cultural Moment
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Connected by scripture or shared themes.
The Church Set Ablaze in a Cultural Moment
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Connected by scripture or shared themes.
We're living in extraordinary days. God is doing a new thing, and we should be able to perceive it. In Isaiah 43, God says to His people: "Behold, I'm doing a new thing. It springs up—do you not perceive it? I'm making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland."
When God moves in a fresh way, there's typically a lag between sensing what's coming and seeing evidence of it. Consider the story of Elijah during the drought. He prophesies that heavy rain is coming, yet there's no visible sign. He sends his servant to look toward the sea repeatedly. On the seventh occasion, the servant sees a cloud the size of a man's fist—a small sign indicating that rains are coming.
Over the past five years, numerous prophetic voices in the UK and beyond have spoken of a spiritual shift happening in this land. Many of us initially responded with skepticism: "Really? We don't see it." Yet as we've been leaning in and praying, we're beginning to see small beginnings—a cloud the size of a man's fist.
We're not just seeing anecdotal evidence anymore; we're seeing statistical confirmation. Recent articles in The Times have documented what's stirring spiritually among Gen Z. One headline reads: "Gen Z half as likely as their parents to identify as atheists."
Look at the data from YUGAR polls about what Brits believe about God. The red line represents atheists; the green line represents theists; the blue line represents the spiritual; the grey line represents those who don't know. In January 2025, for the first time in many years, the green line—those who believe in God—overtook the red line. This is extraordinary.
When we zoom in on Gen Z specifically, the growth is remarkable. In August 2022, belief in God among Gen Z was at 19%. By January 29, 2025, it had risen to 45%—a 26% increase in essentially two years. This is extraordinary growth.
Historian Rodney Stark documented the growth of the early church from AD 40 to AD 350. The church grew at roughly 3.4% per year—small, steady growth year on year—yet this compound growth led to the early church taking over the Roman Empire. When you see 26% growth in two years, you recognize that God is doing something significant.
In London specifically, secularism—represented by the red line of atheists—is plummeting. The green line showing spiritual hunger is climbing sharply. The spiritual hunger in this cultural moment is extraordinary—like nothing witnessed in 25 years of ministry.
We're seeing leading intellectuals tearing up the scripts of secularism, basically saying: "We've tried it. It's been found wanting. It isn't working." Beyond that, we're seeing younger demographics—Gen Z and Gen Alpha—showing up at churches asking for something different. They've feasted on secular scripts; they've devoured narratives promising a utopian vision and the good life. Yet these scripts have left them desperate, wrestling with anxiety and despair. They're hungry for an alternative story—one that brings hope and an encounter with the Risen Lord Jesus Christ.
Whenever God does a new thing, He simultaneously does an old thing. Here's what He always does in a fresh move: He pours out fire on the church.
John the Baptist pointed forward to Jesus, saying: "I baptize you with water, but the one who comes after me will baptize you in the Spirit and in fire." At Pentecost, the church was baptized—immersed—in fire. When a new thing breaks out, the church is ignited and set on fire.
A church on fire is marked by wholehearted worship. Such a church has a sound. When you walk into a church on fire, there's a sound that hits you—the sound of desperate people hungry for God's presence. Desperation has a sound.
Every revival has had a soundtrack. Open the history books, and you'll see that every significant move of God throughout the ages has produced worship music as the church rediscovered its voice.
Consider the Evangelical Awakening of the 18th century. Charles Wesley and John Wesley wrote 6,500 hymns and got the nation singing again. Scripture says, "The Lord inhabits the praises of His people." As the nation sang in worship, God's presence descended, the church was set on fire, and awakening came to the surrounding culture.
The Hebridean Revival—the last recorded revival in the British Isles (1949)—had a distinctive sound. Years ago, I visited the Hebrides and had coffee with individuals now in their 90s who were teenagers during the revival. When I asked them to tell their stories of the outpouring of the Spirit, they all said the same thing: "Pete, you should have heard the singing!" There was something so youthful about them even at their age. They were singing the Psalms in their Gaelic language, and as they worshipped, God's presence inhabited their praises. The church was set on fire, and awakening came to the surrounding culture.
The Azusa Street Revival of 1906 in Los Angeles—which launched Pentecostalism—was known partly for its singing and gospel music. Listen to popular music today, and you're likely hearing a ripple effect of a move of God that happened 120 years ago.
The Charismatic Renewal movement of the 1980s and 90s here in the UK birthed The Vineyard. John Wimber and others got people singing again. The early Vineyard worship songs emerged from this. The testimony of the Vineyard in those early days was: "We rediscovered our voice in worship, God's presence was poured out, there was such intimacy that the church was renewed, and we were sent out in mission."
A church set on fire is then propelled out to bring transformation to the surrounding culture.
Here's the key: Culture is the overflow of worship. The root word of culture—cultus—literally means to bow down, to reverence, to worship.
When you're planted in a new city or context and want to understand the culture, ask yourself: Who do they worship? Where do they worship? How do they worship? When you answer those questions, you'll understand the culture that surrounds you.
When the church rediscovers its voice in worship, transformation comes to the surrounding culture. When we lose our voice in worship and chase cultural relevance instead, things tend to go horribly wrong.
As one friend put it: "Cultural relevance in a time of cultural decay is a vote for death. I don't want to be culturally relevant anymore. I'd rather be relevant to the kingdom story, because the kingdom story is about resurrection life."
The story you live in is the story you live out. Let me walk you through the kingdom narrative.
It starts in a garden—the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve were made in the image and likeness of God, a vision of human flourishing in relationship with Him. But then sin enters, and created order begins to unravel. We call this decreation.
Beginning in Genesis 12 with Abraham, we have a story of restoration and redemption—the story of Israel, fulfilled in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. It moves toward the new creation—recreation.
Thomas Merton, the Catholic writer, said: "Our lives are shaped by the end we live for." What end are you living for?
In the kingdom story, the end is not ascending to a disembodied bliss riding clouds and drinking Red Bull. That's Greek philosophy. Our story's end is that God comes down and makes His dwelling place with us here on Earth. As He does, everything is restored.
The Apostle John, writing in Revelation 21, describes this vision: "God makes His dwelling place with humanity. There will be no death, no grief, no crying, no pain. All the pain and decreation will disappear."
God sits down on His throne—indicative of His work coming to completion—and declares: "Behold, I'm making all things new."
In Greek, there are two words for new: neos (brand new) and kainos (something old made new, restored to its former glory). When God sits on His throne, He says He's making all things kainos—restoring everything to how it was in the beginning in Eden, where there is no sin, no sickness, no suffering, and humanity is fully alive in relationship with God, each other, and creation.
This is a glorious story—a truly glorious story.
Now let me compare the kingdom script with the secular scripts surrounding us. You'll notice the shape looks familiar. During the Enlightenment, certain thinkers said: "We love the shape of the Judeo-Christian worldview. It has a beginning, an account for the brokenness we see, a linear view of time, and a journey toward a utopian vision. What we hate is that God's at the center. We want to be at the center."
So they pushed God from the center and put the rational, autonomous self there instead.
Notice the language: the movement from "darkness" to "light"—"Enlightenment"—is lifted from the Gospels. "The people walking in darkness have seen a great light." Jesus said, "I am the light of the world."
The word "Renaissance" is French for "rebirth." That's lifted straight from John 3, where Jesus tells Nicodemus: "You must be born again from above—born anew by the Spirit."
The Enlightenment thinkers heard that and said: "We want a rebirth, but not by the spirit of the Living God. We want rebirth through scientific advance and technological progress. We want to be the masters of our own destiny, the orchestrators of our future."
Historian Tom Holland (not Spider-Man) wrote a massive book called Dominion: The Making of the Western Mind. His central thesis is that secularism is essentially Godless Christianity—Christianity without Christ. If you take Christ out of Christian, you're left with ian. And how can ian help you? It's the kingdom without the King.
What we've witnessed in recent decades is secular scripts dominating—wanting the fruit of the Judeo-Christian worldview while simultaneously chopping down the tree.
Here's the point: If you want the kingdom, it starts with undivided devotion to the King.
What's emerging in the sound of the UK church right now is a church waking up—a church on its knees in desperation. In the worship, you can hear the cry of desperate people like a deer panting for living water. You can hear a church willing to make big sacrifices because they're undivided in their devotion to King Jesus. It's stirring in the church right now. It's beautiful.
Orthodoxy—two words combined—comes from ortho (right) and doxa (belief). It means right belief. Doxology is a hymn of praise, a hymn of belief. So right belief and right worship should lead to right behavior—right practices, holy living.
But here's what happens when idols pull on the strings of the human heart: Idols primarily don't go after your beliefs. They go after your longings and desires, trying to redirect them away from Jesus.
All of us move in the direction of our deepest desires. When your desires are misdirected, you move in a misdirected manner. You end up with a chasm between what you believe and how you behave. That's called hypocrisy. Sin creates this gap between belief and living.
None of us want to live with an integrity gap. We want to close it. What's the remedy?
Remedy One: Repentance. You recognize the gap between what you proclaim and how you live. You get on your knees, confess your sins, knowing that "if we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us and cleanse us from all unrighteousness." Right now, waves of repentance are sweeping through the western church as the Holy Spirit brings conviction. There are stories from Asbury and spotfires emerging around the world—the church being brought to its knees, recognizing its sin, saying, "Lord, I'm so sorry there's a gap between what I proclaim and how I live. Lord, have mercy. Wash away my sin." It's beautiful what's happening.
Remedy Two: Redefining Orthodoxy. But you need to know, this remedy is also appearing across the western church. The conversation goes like this: "There's a gap between what we believe and how we behave. Can't we just stretch our beliefs, stretch orthodoxy to be inclusive of the idols? Can't it be Jesus and sexual fulfillment? Jesus and success in the workplace? Jesus and expressive individualism? Jesus and the idols?"
These are the conversations we've been witnessing across the western church.
Here's an encouraging insight: even though the church in the West has been declining—and I could show you a graph of the Anglican Church's decline—this kind of decline is a precursor to a move of God. God isn't going to abandon His church. He's not going to allow it to die.
If you read the stories preceding the Evangelical Awakening and the Hebridean Revival, you'd see similar decline graphs. We're in a wake-up moment—a church revival moment.
But we must ask: Why has the western church been struggling so much? At least one reason is that rather than getting on our knees in repentance, we've been busy redefining orthodoxy. Rather than pursuing purity and holiness, we've been redefining orthodoxy. It's left the church vulnerable and weak.
Tim Keller, in Counterfeit Gods, outlines three stages to dethroning idols: recognize, repent, replace.
Recognize: Wake up. We've been feasting on the secular scripts around us rather than proclaiming our own story. We need to wake up to what's happening.
Repent: Once you recognize it, you get on your knees and start repenting.
Replace: You push the idols to the side and put Jesus back on the throne where He belongs. You begin to worship Him with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.
One of the most beautiful things tonight has been listening to the worship in this space. It's the sound of a church on fire—desperate people longing for an encounter with the Living God, waking up, getting on their knees, and putting Jesus first.
Marker Two: A church on fire is marked by the manifest presence of God's Spirit. God is omnipresent everywhere, but in moments like this, we taste His manifest presence. We become acutely aware of His nearness. He's always near, but there are times when we become intensely aware of it.
Let me tell you a story about my family. I'm married to Bee, and we have three kids—Ben, Josh, and Olive—now in their teenage years. If I took you back 10 years, something happened pretty much every night.
Around 2 or 3 a.m., we'd hear a voice: "Daddy! Daddy!" It sounded like a horror movie. I did what any loving parent would do—I ignored it. But the voice was persistent. I even tried rebuking it in the name of Jesus, but that didn't work either.
Eventually, my wife would elbow me and say, "It's one of the kids. You need to go and see them." So I'd run upstairs, find the room, find the child, and nearly always they'd say the same thing: "Dad, I think there's a monster under the bed."
So you'd check under the bed and say, "No, I guarantee there's no monster under the bed." Normally they'd have hidden in the cupboards anyway. But there'd definitely not be one under the bed.
Then they'd say, "Dad, there's a shadowy figure in the corner." Normally it was just a piece of clothing casting a shadow, so I'd deal with that.
Then nearly always they'd say, "Dad, I think there's a fox in the house." We have a problem in London with urban foxes climbing into our garden, and our kids were afraid of them. So they'd say, "Dad, I really think one of those foxes has got into the house."
I'd always say the same thing: "Kids, there's only one fox in this house, and that's your mom, and she's fast asleep right now. There are no other foxes in the house."
Then I'd get into bed with them, tell them I love them, hold them in my arms. They'd fall asleep, and I'd fall asleep. We'd both wake up at dawn.
Why do I tell you this story? I think it's a metaphor for our cultural moment, particularly as it relates to Gen Z.
They're acutely aware of the darkness surrounding them. They're acutely aware of the oppressive currents in this cultural moment—so much so that they're desperate for an alternative story.
You can hear it in the cry of Gen Z: "Daddy! Daddy! I'm really frightened. I'm frightened by my thought life. I'm frightened by what's happening politically and financially around me. I don't even know what I believe about God, but if you're out there, please—Daddy, Daddy!"
We in the church are knocking on the door of Heaven, praying that the dawn from on high would break in upon us. I think we're at the early stages of that taking place.
God is drawing incredibly close with His presence. Listen to Song of Songs 2:
"My beloved spoke and said to me: Arise, wake up, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me. See, the winter has passed. The rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth. The season of singing has come. The cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit. The blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me."
There's a season shift happening in the church.
For years, if not decades, we've been in winter. The challenge in winter is learning to be faithful in adversity. The missional landscape was really tough. Secularism was suffocating and hostile to the church. The challenge was to be faithful in adversity—not to throw in the towel, not to compromise, not to drift.
But if we're being honest, what that's felt like for many of us is just surviving scarcity. For years, decades in the western church, we've been surviving. It's been brutal. And surviving has a posture—it looks like bracing for impact.
But what if a season shift were upon us? What if spring were breaking in?
The challenge of spring is learning to steward abundance.
I want to say this to Trent Vineyard: You're a large church, but you ain't seen nothing yet. There is a generation crying out, "Daddy, I'm really scared." You need to get ready for them. They're going to descend upon this church because they're hungry for the presence of God.
If you host the presence of God—if you pour out praises and the Lord inhabits those praises with His presence—you're going to see people flock to this church hungry for an encounter with the Living God.
You've got to get ready to steward abundance.
The shift from surviving scarcity to stewarding abundance means changing your posture. If surviving scarcity is bracing for impact, stewarding abundance looks like: "Bring it on. Come, Holy Spirit. I'm not on the back foot. I'm not just trying to survive. Lord, teach me how to steward what You're doing. Make me receptive to all that You're doing."
Some of us have muscle memory from the scarcity season. God's saying: "The season's changed. You need to dress according to the season. You need to get ready for what I'm doing."
Luke 3 describes the baptism of Jesus:
"When all the people were being baptized, Jesus was baptized too. And as he was praying, heaven was opened and the Holy Spirit descended on him in bodily form like a dove."
You see the season shift from winter to spring marked out by spring rains—like the downpour of the spirit. This is happening in this text. The spirit descends on Jesus in bodily form like a dove.
Why a dove? Have you ever thought about it? I mean, I do love doves, but why not a robin? Yet it's loaded imagery from the Jewish story.
Genesis 1 says: "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, and darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters."
The Jewish people spent 70 years in exile in Babylon. When they left Babylon speaking Aramaic instead of Hebrew, the rabbis realized: "We need to translate our story for the younger generation. They don't know the epic story of God's faithfulness—the stories of Abraham and Isaac, Moses and the Red Sea, the provision in the wilderness, the falling of Jericho, David."
So they translated the Hebrew scriptures into Aramaic, creating what's called the Targum. This was the translation of scripture most familiar to Jesus and His contemporaries in the first century.
When the Targum translated the creation story of Genesis 1, it added one little detail. It says: "The spirit of God was hovering over the waters like a dove."
If you'd asked someone in the Jewish community in the first century to tell you the creation story, they would have said: "There are three ingredients: God speaking—He said, 'Let there be light.' The answer is always light. You've got the waters. And you've got the spirit hovering like a dove."
At Jesus's baptism, anyone with eyes to see would recognize this:
This is the creation story. This is the new creation breaking in upon us. This is the arrival of the kingdom of God.
You see, kingdom culture is established when the dove rests and remains. When the spirit does a new thing and begins to rest and remain on the church in a new way, expect outbreaks of kingdom culture.
If that's true, then we will be as fruitful as we are faithful to the movement of the spirit.
This is why it's so important for you as a church: Your priority is to host the presence. That is your priority. We will be as fruitful as we are faithful to the movement of the spirit.
Let me close with a story demonstrating some of the shifts we're seeing.
Iona is a dear friend of ours. We met her at Trent Vineyard when we were at university. She's now part of King's Cross Church (KXC) and is godmother to our three kids.
She was flying through London airport on her way to a 24/7 prayer conference. At the makeup counter, she met someone wearing a beautiful stone necklace. Iona asked about it, and the woman said she was deeply into new age spirituality and explained what the stone represented.
Iona responded: "Oh, I'm really spiritual too. I'm a follower of Jesus. One of the things I love doing is praying for people. Is there something I can pray for you?"
The woman was a bit startled but said, "Well, I guess. I have chronic back pain. Could you pray for that?"
So Iona prayed: "Lord, bring healing to this person. Open their eyes to see who You are." Then she said, "Amen. We've gotten quite deep, but we haven't even introduced ourselves. My name's Iona."
The woman said, "My name's Herena."
Iona asked, "That's a beautiful name. What does it mean?"
Herena said, "It means 'chosen.' But I don't know what I'm chosen for."
That was an open door. Iona said, "Well, I think you're chosen by Jesus, and He wants to reveal Himself to you."
They said goodbye. Herena got on her plane.
A few months later, Iona was passing through London airport again on her way to another conference. She went to the makeup counter looking for Herena. She wasn't there. But then she heard a voice: "Iona!"
Herena came running up, thrilled to see her. "Can I tell you the story of what's happened over the last two or three months?"
Herena said: "When you prayed for me, I felt a cooling gel go through my body—something I'd never experienced. From that point on, I've had no back pain. It's completely healed."
Herena went home and told her father, "Dad, I think there's power in the name of Jesus." Her father looked disinterested.
Herena decided to call her psychic to process what was happening. She was deep into new age spirituality. When she started telling her psychic the story, the psychic interrupted: "Herena, I've given up all of that. I've encountered Jesus, and He's transformed my life."
At this point, Herena was stunned. She put the phone down and asked her father, "Dad, do we have a Bible in this house?"
Her father said, "You know, I think we do somewhere. Maybe Grandma's Bible."
They searched and found it. Herena went to her room, opened it, and on the front page, at the bottom, it said: "Iona."
When Iona heard this story in the airport, she said, "Are you sure? I've read the Bible, and Iona isn't in the Bible. Are you sure it was a Bible and not some other spiritual text?"
Herena got out her phone and showed her a photo. The bottom of the page said the text was written in "Iona Clearface font." But for Herena, it was like God confirming, "I chose you. I'm calling you by name."
Herena started reading the scriptures. As she read, she encountered the person of Jesus Christ. She decided to rock up at a local church. She was welcomed into the family, and a few weeks later, she was baptized.
Notice: No Alpha course. The Alpha course is incredible, but there are moments when the spiritual hunger in the surrounding culture is so acute that a generation—completely aware of the darkness—are just showing up at churches asking, "Can you tell me your story?"
We're seeing this at King's Cross. A younger demographic is literally rocking up on Sundays, tearing up the secular scripts. They're saying: "I've tried this text. I've tried this script. It's led me to chronic anxiety, chronic despair. I can't cope anymore. Someone said you're proclaiming a better story. Can you tell me your story?"
A younger generation crying out: "Daddy, daddy!"
Behold, I'm doing a new thing. It springs up. Do you not perceive it?
Our task in this moment is to be a church on fire. The church on fire is marked by wholehearted worship—a desperate people desperate for the presence of God. It's marked by a church wanting to be attentive to the currents of the movement of God's spirit.
We're living in extraordinary days. God is doing a new thing, and we should be able to perceive it. In Isaiah 43, God says to His people: "Behold, I'm doing a new thing. It springs up—do you not perceive it? I'm making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland."
When God moves in a fresh way, there's typically a lag between sensing what's coming and seeing evidence of it. Consider the story of Elijah during the drought. He prophesies that heavy rain is coming, yet there's no visible sign. He sends his servant to look toward the sea repeatedly. On the seventh occasion, the servant sees a cloud the size of a man's fist—a small sign indicating that rains are coming.
Over the past five years, numerous prophetic voices in the UK and beyond have spoken of a spiritual shift happening in this land. Many of us initially responded with skepticism: "Really? We don't see it." Yet as we've been leaning in and praying, we're beginning to see small beginnings—a cloud the size of a man's fist.
We're not just seeing anecdotal evidence anymore; we're seeing statistical confirmation. Recent articles in The Times have documented what's stirring spiritually among Gen Z. One headline reads: "Gen Z half as likely as their parents to identify as atheists."
Look at the data from YUGAR polls about what Brits believe about God. The red line represents atheists; the green line represents theists; the blue line represents the spiritual; the grey line represents those who don't know. In January 2025, for the first time in many years, the green line—those who believe in God—overtook the red line. This is extraordinary.
When we zoom in on Gen Z specifically, the growth is remarkable. In August 2022, belief in God among Gen Z was at 19%. By January 29, 2025, it had risen to 45%—a 26% increase in essentially two years. This is extraordinary growth.
Historian Rodney Stark documented the growth of the early church from AD 40 to AD 350. The church grew at roughly 3.4% per year—small, steady growth year on year—yet this compound growth led to the early church taking over the Roman Empire. When you see 26% growth in two years, you recognize that God is doing something significant.
In London specifically, secularism—represented by the red line of atheists—is plummeting. The green line showing spiritual hunger is climbing sharply. The spiritual hunger in this cultural moment is extraordinary—like nothing witnessed in 25 years of ministry.
We're seeing leading intellectuals tearing up the scripts of secularism, basically saying: "We've tried it. It's been found wanting. It isn't working." Beyond that, we're seeing younger demographics—Gen Z and Gen Alpha—showing up at churches asking for something different. They've feasted on secular scripts; they've devoured narratives promising a utopian vision and the good life. Yet these scripts have left them desperate, wrestling with anxiety and despair. They're hungry for an alternative story—one that brings hope and an encounter with the Risen Lord Jesus Christ.
Whenever God does a new thing, He simultaneously does an old thing. Here's what He always does in a fresh move: He pours out fire on the church.
John the Baptist pointed forward to Jesus, saying: "I baptize you with water, but the one who comes after me will baptize you in the Spirit and in fire." At Pentecost, the church was baptized—immersed—in fire. When a new thing breaks out, the church is ignited and set on fire.
A church on fire is marked by wholehearted worship. Such a church has a sound. When you walk into a church on fire, there's a sound that hits you—the sound of desperate people hungry for God's presence. Desperation has a sound.
Every revival has had a soundtrack. Open the history books, and you'll see that every significant move of God throughout the ages has produced worship music as the church rediscovered its voice.
Consider the Evangelical Awakening of the 18th century. Charles Wesley and John Wesley wrote 6,500 hymns and got the nation singing again. Scripture says, "The Lord inhabits the praises of His people." As the nation sang in worship, God's presence descended, the church was set on fire, and awakening came to the surrounding culture.
The Hebridean Revival—the last recorded revival in the British Isles (1949)—had a distinctive sound. Years ago, I visited the Hebrides and had coffee with individuals now in their 90s who were teenagers during the revival. When I asked them to tell their stories of the outpouring of the Spirit, they all said the same thing: "Pete, you should have heard the singing!" There was something so youthful about them even at their age. They were singing the Psalms in their Gaelic language, and as they worshipped, God's presence inhabited their praises. The church was set on fire, and awakening came to the surrounding culture.
The Azusa Street Revival of 1906 in Los Angeles—which launched Pentecostalism—was known partly for its singing and gospel music. Listen to popular music today, and you're likely hearing a ripple effect of a move of God that happened 120 years ago.
The Charismatic Renewal movement of the 1980s and 90s here in the UK birthed The Vineyard. John Wimber and others got people singing again. The early Vineyard worship songs emerged from this. The testimony of the Vineyard in those early days was: "We rediscovered our voice in worship, God's presence was poured out, there was such intimacy that the church was renewed, and we were sent out in mission."
A church set on fire is then propelled out to bring transformation to the surrounding culture.
Here's the key: Culture is the overflow of worship. The root word of culture—cultus—literally means to bow down, to reverence, to worship.
When you're planted in a new city or context and want to understand the culture, ask yourself: Who do they worship? Where do they worship? How do they worship? When you answer those questions, you'll understand the culture that surrounds you.
When the church rediscovers its voice in worship, transformation comes to the surrounding culture. When we lose our voice in worship and chase cultural relevance instead, things tend to go horribly wrong.
As one friend put it: "Cultural relevance in a time of cultural decay is a vote for death. I don't want to be culturally relevant anymore. I'd rather be relevant to the kingdom story, because the kingdom story is about resurrection life."
The story you live in is the story you live out. Let me walk you through the kingdom narrative.
It starts in a garden—the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve were made in the image and likeness of God, a vision of human flourishing in relationship with Him. But then sin enters, and created order begins to unravel. We call this decreation.
Beginning in Genesis 12 with Abraham, we have a story of restoration and redemption—the story of Israel, fulfilled in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. It moves toward the new creation—recreation.
Thomas Merton, the Catholic writer, said: "Our lives are shaped by the end we live for." What end are you living for?
In the kingdom story, the end is not ascending to a disembodied bliss riding clouds and drinking Red Bull. That's Greek philosophy. Our story's end is that God comes down and makes His dwelling place with us here on Earth. As He does, everything is restored.
The Apostle John, writing in Revelation 21, describes this vision: "God makes His dwelling place with humanity. There will be no death, no grief, no crying, no pain. All the pain and decreation will disappear."
God sits down on His throne—indicative of His work coming to completion—and declares: "Behold, I'm making all things new."
In Greek, there are two words for new: neos (brand new) and kainos (something old made new, restored to its former glory). When God sits on His throne, He says He's making all things kainos—restoring everything to how it was in the beginning in Eden, where there is no sin, no sickness, no suffering, and humanity is fully alive in relationship with God, each other, and creation.
This is a glorious story—a truly glorious story.
Now let me compare the kingdom script with the secular scripts surrounding us. You'll notice the shape looks familiar. During the Enlightenment, certain thinkers said: "We love the shape of the Judeo-Christian worldview. It has a beginning, an account for the brokenness we see, a linear view of time, and a journey toward a utopian vision. What we hate is that God's at the center. We want to be at the center."
So they pushed God from the center and put the rational, autonomous self there instead.
Notice the language: the movement from "darkness" to "light"—"Enlightenment"—is lifted from the Gospels. "The people walking in darkness have seen a great light." Jesus said, "I am the light of the world."
The word "Renaissance" is French for "rebirth." That's lifted straight from John 3, where Jesus tells Nicodemus: "You must be born again from above—born anew by the Spirit."
The Enlightenment thinkers heard that and said: "We want a rebirth, but not by the spirit of the Living God. We want rebirth through scientific advance and technological progress. We want to be the masters of our own destiny, the orchestrators of our future."
Historian Tom Holland (not Spider-Man) wrote a massive book called Dominion: The Making of the Western Mind. His central thesis is that secularism is essentially Godless Christianity—Christianity without Christ. If you take Christ out of Christian, you're left with ian. And how can ian help you? It's the kingdom without the King.
What we've witnessed in recent decades is secular scripts dominating—wanting the fruit of the Judeo-Christian worldview while simultaneously chopping down the tree.
Here's the point: If you want the kingdom, it starts with undivided devotion to the King.
What's emerging in the sound of the UK church right now is a church waking up—a church on its knees in desperation. In the worship, you can hear the cry of desperate people like a deer panting for living water. You can hear a church willing to make big sacrifices because they're undivided in their devotion to King Jesus. It's stirring in the church right now. It's beautiful.
Orthodoxy—two words combined—comes from ortho (right) and doxa (belief). It means right belief. Doxology is a hymn of praise, a hymn of belief. So right belief and right worship should lead to right behavior—right practices, holy living.
But here's what happens when idols pull on the strings of the human heart: Idols primarily don't go after your beliefs. They go after your longings and desires, trying to redirect them away from Jesus.
All of us move in the direction of our deepest desires. When your desires are misdirected, you move in a misdirected manner. You end up with a chasm between what you believe and how you behave. That's called hypocrisy. Sin creates this gap between belief and living.
None of us want to live with an integrity gap. We want to close it. What's the remedy?
Remedy One: Repentance. You recognize the gap between what you proclaim and how you live. You get on your knees, confess your sins, knowing that "if we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us and cleanse us from all unrighteousness." Right now, waves of repentance are sweeping through the western church as the Holy Spirit brings conviction. There are stories from Asbury and spotfires emerging around the world—the church being brought to its knees, recognizing its sin, saying, "Lord, I'm so sorry there's a gap between what I proclaim and how I live. Lord, have mercy. Wash away my sin." It's beautiful what's happening.
Remedy Two: Redefining Orthodoxy. But you need to know, this remedy is also appearing across the western church. The conversation goes like this: "There's a gap between what we believe and how we behave. Can't we just stretch our beliefs, stretch orthodoxy to be inclusive of the idols? Can't it be Jesus and sexual fulfillment? Jesus and success in the workplace? Jesus and expressive individualism? Jesus and the idols?"
These are the conversations we've been witnessing across the western church.
Here's an encouraging insight: even though the church in the West has been declining—and I could show you a graph of the Anglican Church's decline—this kind of decline is a precursor to a move of God. God isn't going to abandon His church. He's not going to allow it to die.
If you read the stories preceding the Evangelical Awakening and the Hebridean Revival, you'd see similar decline graphs. We're in a wake-up moment—a church revival moment.
But we must ask: Why has the western church been struggling so much? At least one reason is that rather than getting on our knees in repentance, we've been busy redefining orthodoxy. Rather than pursuing purity and holiness, we've been redefining orthodoxy. It's left the church vulnerable and weak.
Tim Keller, in Counterfeit Gods, outlines three stages to dethroning idols: recognize, repent, replace.
Recognize: Wake up. We've been feasting on the secular scripts around us rather than proclaiming our own story. We need to wake up to what's happening.
Repent: Once you recognize it, you get on your knees and start repenting.
Replace: You push the idols to the side and put Jesus back on the throne where He belongs. You begin to worship Him with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.
One of the most beautiful things tonight has been listening to the worship in this space. It's the sound of a church on fire—desperate people longing for an encounter with the Living God, waking up, getting on their knees, and putting Jesus first.
Marker Two: A church on fire is marked by the manifest presence of God's Spirit. God is omnipresent everywhere, but in moments like this, we taste His manifest presence. We become acutely aware of His nearness. He's always near, but there are times when we become intensely aware of it.
Let me tell you a story about my family. I'm married to Bee, and we have three kids—Ben, Josh, and Olive—now in their teenage years. If I took you back 10 years, something happened pretty much every night.
Around 2 or 3 a.m., we'd hear a voice: "Daddy! Daddy!" It sounded like a horror movie. I did what any loving parent would do—I ignored it. But the voice was persistent. I even tried rebuking it in the name of Jesus, but that didn't work either.
Eventually, my wife would elbow me and say, "It's one of the kids. You need to go and see them." So I'd run upstairs, find the room, find the child, and nearly always they'd say the same thing: "Dad, I think there's a monster under the bed."
So you'd check under the bed and say, "No, I guarantee there's no monster under the bed." Normally they'd have hidden in the cupboards anyway. But there'd definitely not be one under the bed.
Then they'd say, "Dad, there's a shadowy figure in the corner." Normally it was just a piece of clothing casting a shadow, so I'd deal with that.
Then nearly always they'd say, "Dad, I think there's a fox in the house." We have a problem in London with urban foxes climbing into our garden, and our kids were afraid of them. So they'd say, "Dad, I really think one of those foxes has got into the house."
I'd always say the same thing: "Kids, there's only one fox in this house, and that's your mom, and she's fast asleep right now. There are no other foxes in the house."
Then I'd get into bed with them, tell them I love them, hold them in my arms. They'd fall asleep, and I'd fall asleep. We'd both wake up at dawn.
Why do I tell you this story? I think it's a metaphor for our cultural moment, particularly as it relates to Gen Z.
They're acutely aware of the darkness surrounding them. They're acutely aware of the oppressive currents in this cultural moment—so much so that they're desperate for an alternative story.
You can hear it in the cry of Gen Z: "Daddy! Daddy! I'm really frightened. I'm frightened by my thought life. I'm frightened by what's happening politically and financially around me. I don't even know what I believe about God, but if you're out there, please—Daddy, Daddy!"
We in the church are knocking on the door of Heaven, praying that the dawn from on high would break in upon us. I think we're at the early stages of that taking place.
God is drawing incredibly close with His presence. Listen to Song of Songs 2:
"My beloved spoke and said to me: Arise, wake up, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me. See, the winter has passed. The rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth. The season of singing has come. The cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit. The blossoming vines spread their fragrance. Arise, come, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me."
There's a season shift happening in the church.
For years, if not decades, we've been in winter. The challenge in winter is learning to be faithful in adversity. The missional landscape was really tough. Secularism was suffocating and hostile to the church. The challenge was to be faithful in adversity—not to throw in the towel, not to compromise, not to drift.
But if we're being honest, what that's felt like for many of us is just surviving scarcity. For years, decades in the western church, we've been surviving. It's been brutal. And surviving has a posture—it looks like bracing for impact.
But what if a season shift were upon us? What if spring were breaking in?
The challenge of spring is learning to steward abundance.
I want to say this to Trent Vineyard: You're a large church, but you ain't seen nothing yet. There is a generation crying out, "Daddy, I'm really scared." You need to get ready for them. They're going to descend upon this church because they're hungry for the presence of God.
If you host the presence of God—if you pour out praises and the Lord inhabits those praises with His presence—you're going to see people flock to this church hungry for an encounter with the Living God.
You've got to get ready to steward abundance.
The shift from surviving scarcity to stewarding abundance means changing your posture. If surviving scarcity is bracing for impact, stewarding abundance looks like: "Bring it on. Come, Holy Spirit. I'm not on the back foot. I'm not just trying to survive. Lord, teach me how to steward what You're doing. Make me receptive to all that You're doing."
Some of us have muscle memory from the scarcity season. God's saying: "The season's changed. You need to dress according to the season. You need to get ready for what I'm doing."
Luke 3 describes the baptism of Jesus:
"When all the people were being baptized, Jesus was baptized too. And as he was praying, heaven was opened and the Holy Spirit descended on him in bodily form like a dove."
You see the season shift from winter to spring marked out by spring rains—like the downpour of the spirit. This is happening in this text. The spirit descends on Jesus in bodily form like a dove.
Why a dove? Have you ever thought about it? I mean, I do love doves, but why not a robin? Yet it's loaded imagery from the Jewish story.
Genesis 1 says: "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, and darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters."
The Jewish people spent 70 years in exile in Babylon. When they left Babylon speaking Aramaic instead of Hebrew, the rabbis realized: "We need to translate our story for the younger generation. They don't know the epic story of God's faithfulness—the stories of Abraham and Isaac, Moses and the Red Sea, the provision in the wilderness, the falling of Jericho, David."
So they translated the Hebrew scriptures into Aramaic, creating what's called the Targum. This was the translation of scripture most familiar to Jesus and His contemporaries in the first century.
When the Targum translated the creation story of Genesis 1, it added one little detail. It says: "The spirit of God was hovering over the waters like a dove."
If you'd asked someone in the Jewish community in the first century to tell you the creation story, they would have said: "There are three ingredients: God speaking—He said, 'Let there be light.' The answer is always light. You've got the waters. And you've got the spirit hovering like a dove."
At Jesus's baptism, anyone with eyes to see would recognize this:
This is the creation story. This is the new creation breaking in upon us. This is the arrival of the kingdom of God.
You see, kingdom culture is established when the dove rests and remains. When the spirit does a new thing and begins to rest and remain on the church in a new way, expect outbreaks of kingdom culture.
If that's true, then we will be as fruitful as we are faithful to the movement of the spirit.
This is why it's so important for you as a church: Your priority is to host the presence. That is your priority. We will be as fruitful as we are faithful to the movement of the spirit.
Let me close with a story demonstrating some of the shifts we're seeing.
Iona is a dear friend of ours. We met her at Trent Vineyard when we were at university. She's now part of King's Cross Church (KXC) and is godmother to our three kids.
She was flying through London airport on her way to a 24/7 prayer conference. At the makeup counter, she met someone wearing a beautiful stone necklace. Iona asked about it, and the woman said she was deeply into new age spirituality and explained what the stone represented.
Iona responded: "Oh, I'm really spiritual too. I'm a follower of Jesus. One of the things I love doing is praying for people. Is there something I can pray for you?"
The woman was a bit startled but said, "Well, I guess. I have chronic back pain. Could you pray for that?"
So Iona prayed: "Lord, bring healing to this person. Open their eyes to see who You are." Then she said, "Amen. We've gotten quite deep, but we haven't even introduced ourselves. My name's Iona."
The woman said, "My name's Herena."
Iona asked, "That's a beautiful name. What does it mean?"
Herena said, "It means 'chosen.' But I don't know what I'm chosen for."
That was an open door. Iona said, "Well, I think you're chosen by Jesus, and He wants to reveal Himself to you."
They said goodbye. Herena got on her plane.
A few months later, Iona was passing through London airport again on her way to another conference. She went to the makeup counter looking for Herena. She wasn't there. But then she heard a voice: "Iona!"
Herena came running up, thrilled to see her. "Can I tell you the story of what's happened over the last two or three months?"
Herena said: "When you prayed for me, I felt a cooling gel go through my body—something I'd never experienced. From that point on, I've had no back pain. It's completely healed."
Herena went home and told her father, "Dad, I think there's power in the name of Jesus." Her father looked disinterested.
Herena decided to call her psychic to process what was happening. She was deep into new age spirituality. When she started telling her psychic the story, the psychic interrupted: "Herena, I've given up all of that. I've encountered Jesus, and He's transformed my life."
At this point, Herena was stunned. She put the phone down and asked her father, "Dad, do we have a Bible in this house?"
Her father said, "You know, I think we do somewhere. Maybe Grandma's Bible."
They searched and found it. Herena went to her room, opened it, and on the front page, at the bottom, it said: "Iona."
When Iona heard this story in the airport, she said, "Are you sure? I've read the Bible, and Iona isn't in the Bible. Are you sure it was a Bible and not some other spiritual text?"
Herena got out her phone and showed her a photo. The bottom of the page said the text was written in "Iona Clearface font." But for Herena, it was like God confirming, "I chose you. I'm calling you by name."
Herena started reading the scriptures. As she read, she encountered the person of Jesus Christ. She decided to rock up at a local church. She was welcomed into the family, and a few weeks later, she was baptized.
Notice: No Alpha course. The Alpha course is incredible, but there are moments when the spiritual hunger in the surrounding culture is so acute that a generation—completely aware of the darkness—are just showing up at churches asking, "Can you tell me your story?"
We're seeing this at King's Cross. A younger demographic is literally rocking up on Sundays, tearing up the secular scripts. They're saying: "I've tried this text. I've tried this script. It's led me to chronic anxiety, chronic despair. I can't cope anymore. Someone said you're proclaiming a better story. Can you tell me your story?"
A younger generation crying out: "Daddy, daddy!"
Behold, I'm doing a new thing. It springs up. Do you not perceive it?
Our task in this moment is to be a church on fire. The church on fire is marked by wholehearted worship—a desperate people desperate for the presence of God. It's marked by a church wanting to be attentive to the currents of the movement of God's spirit.
