The Bible Is About What’s Left After the Fire

Fire changes everything.

It burns away what can’t last. It leaves behind what can.
And the Bible is full of fire.

• Job’s life burned down in loss.

• Elijah’s altar burned down in glory.

• The temple burned down in judgment.

• Even the New Testament says every work will be tried by fire (1 Corinthians 3:13).

The question is never, “Will there be fire?”
The question is, “What will be left when it’s over?”

Job: Faith in the Ashes

Job sat in ashes when his world collapsed. His wealth, his health, his children—all gone.

But when he met God face-to-face, he said: “I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear: but now mine eye seeth thee” (Job 42:5).

The fire stripped away Job’s assumptions. But it left him with a clearer vision of God.

Elijah: An Altar in Flames

On Mount Carmel, Elijah rebuilt a broken altar. Fire fell. Stones cracked. Water boiled. Dust turned to smoke.

And the people fell on their faces saying, “The LORD, He is God.”

The fire didn’t leave the altar pristine. It left it marked, changed, consumed. But it left God glorified.

The Temple: Glory Departed, Presence Remains

When Babylon burned Solomon’s temple, Israel thought the story was over.

But fire didn’t end God’s presence—it relocated it. From stone walls to a remnant people. From holy place to human hearts.

The fire cleared the way for a greater temple: Christ Himself, and then His Spirit in us.

What Fire Leaves Behind

Paul says: “Every man’s work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire” (1 Corinthians 3:13).

Fire doesn’t just destroy—it reveals.

• What’s fake burns.

• What’s real remains.

• And sometimes, what’s left is the only thing that mattered anyway.

The Bible is about what’s left after the fire.
Not untouched perfection.
But enduring faith.

The Gospel in the Fire

At the cross, Jesus endured the fire of judgment. He bore wrath, shame, and death. And what was left?

An empty tomb.
A risen Savior.
A kingdom that cannot be shaken.

So don’t fear the fire. God doesn’t waste it.
He uses it to burn away what can’t last, until only what’s eternal remains.

The Law That Lied to Me

The law made me a promise.
It told me: “If you do good, God will bless you. If you fail, He will curse you.”

It sounded simple. Clean. Black-and-white.
So I believed it. And I built my life around it.

But the law lied to me.

The Law Promised Life

Paul says in Galatians 3:21:
“For if there had been a law given which could have given life, verily righteousness should have been by the law.”

That’s the lie. The law looks like life.
It offers control, certainty, measurable results.

If you’re good enough, you’ll get what you long for.
If you’re pure enough, God will approve of you.
If you’re faithful enough, you’ll finally have peace.

It’s intoxicating because it feels achievable.

But in the end, it’s slavery.

The Law Delivered Death

Paul calls the law “the ministration of death” (2 Corinthians 3:7).
Why? Because no matter how hard you try, it’s never enough.

The law doesn’t heal sin. It exposes it.
The law doesn’t remove guilt. It multiplies it.
The law doesn’t make you holy. It leaves you hollow.

I know, because I lived it.
I stayed up late, fasted, prayed, hustled—hoping to buy God’s blessing with spiritual currency.
But all I got was exhaustion, shame, and bitterness.

The law promised life.
But it gave me death.

The Gospel Tells the Truth

Here’s the truth:

• Righteousness is not earned—it’s given.

• Holiness is not achieved—it’s received.

• God’s favor is not purchased—it’s poured out.

The gospel doesn’t say, “Do this and live.”
It says, “It is finished.”

Paul writes: “The law was our schoolmaster to bring us unto Christ, that we might be justified by faith.” (Galatians 3:24).

The law’s job was never to give life.
It was to drive us to the One who is life.

Why It Matters

If you live by the law, you will always measure yourself by failure.
But if you live by the Spirit, you measure everything by grace.

The law lied to me.
But Jesus told me the truth.

And the truth is this: I don’t have to earn God’s love.
I already have it.

The Bible Is About Surrendered Imagination

Most of us stop imagining once we grow up.
We trade wonder for certainty.
We trade possibility for practicality.
And if we’re honest, many of us trade faith for formulas.

But the Bible refuses to let imagination die.

The Faith to See What Isn’t Visible

When Elijah stood on Mount Carmel after the fire fell, he told his servant: “There is a sound of abundance of rain” (1 Kings 18:41).

But there were no clouds.
No thunder.
No storm on the horizon.

Elijah prayed anyway. And he sent his servant to look—seven times.
Until finally, a cloud the size of a man’s hand appeared.

That’s what surrendered imagination looks like. It’s the courage to see what isn’t there yet.

Prophets and Poets of the Impossible

The prophets did this over and over again.

• Isaiah pictured swords beaten into plowshares while wars still raged (Isaiah 2).

• Ezekiel saw dry bones become an army while Israel was still scattered (Ezekiel 37).

• Joel dreamed of sons and daughters prophesying, old men dreaming, young men seeing visions (Joel 2).

They weren’t daydreaming. They were seeing with God’s eyes.

Jesus did the same. He didn’t hand out formulas. He handed out pictures:
“The kingdom of heaven is like a seed.”
“Like yeast in dough.”
“Like treasure hidden in a field.”

The gospel is a vision that reshapes what we think is possible.

How We Shrink the Story

But somewhere along the way, many of us shrank faith into a list.

• Do this.

• Don’t do that.

• Keep the rules.

• Stay safe.

Legalism kills imagination. It doesn’t let us picture new creation—it only manages old behavior.

No wonder so many Christians feel stuck. If faith is only about staying inside the lines, there’s no wonder left to chase.

The Renewal of Imagination

Paul says in Romans 12:2: “Be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind.”
Not just behavior. Not just habits.
Your mind. Your way of seeing.

Faith isn’t fantasy. It doesn’t mean making things up.
It means surrendering imagination to God. Letting Him rewire what we picture when we think about the future.

Holiness isn’t just about saying no to sin. It’s about saying yes to a bigger vision—one shaped by the Spirit, one that pictures a kingdom where God dwells with His people, where tears are wiped away, where creation is made new.

The Bible Is About Surrendered Imagination

The Bible isn’t a rulebook for safe people.
It’s a vision for new people.

It keeps asking: Can you see it?
Not your dream. His dream.
Not your kingdom. His kingdom.
Not your imagination—but surrendered imagination.

Because when your imagination belongs to God, wonder is no longer a distraction. It’s discipleship.

Why I Stopped Trying to Be Holy

I used to think holiness meant effort.
If I prayed long enough, avoided the right sins, showed up at every service, maybe then I’d be holy.

And I tried. Hard.
I made holiness into a job description.
But instead of finding peace, I found exhaustion.

The harder I tried to be holy, the more unholy I felt.

The Problem With “Trying”

When Paul wrote to the Galatians, he asked:

“Are ye so foolish? having begun in the Spirit, are ye now made perfect by the flesh?”
(Galatians 3:3)

That was me. I thought the Spirit saved me, but after that it was up to me to finish the job. To polish myself into holiness.

But holiness isn’t earned like a paycheck. It’s received like a gift.

Holiness Is Christ, Not a Checklist

Paul says it plainly:

“I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me…”
(Galatians 2:20)

The old me died.
The one who hustled for approval, who measured worth by effort—that person was crucified.
And the life I live now isn’t about my performance. It’s Christ living in me.

Holiness isn’t about trying harder.
It’s about trusting deeper.

The False Holiness That Burns Us Out

We often define holiness by externals:

• How often we pray.

• How clean our habits are.

• How good we look to others.

But that kind of holiness doesn’t free you. It chains you.
It’s Sinai all over again—rules that demand, but never deliver.

True holiness doesn’t come from human striving. It comes from the Spirit who makes us new.

The Freedom of Real Holiness

Paul again:

“Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.”
(Galatians 5:1)

Holiness isn’t a cage.
It’s liberty.

When Peter said, “Be ye holy; for I am holy” (1 Peter 1:16), he wasn’t handing out a burden. He was pointing us to the source. Holiness isn’t something we manufacture—it’s Someone we reflect.

Why I Stopped Trying

I stopped trying to be holy because my trying was the problem.
Holiness isn’t my work for God.
It’s God’s work in me.

When I gave up the hustle and trusted the Spirit, I found what I was chasing the whole time: rest, freedom, and a holiness I could never have achieved on my own.

The Takeaway

The gospel doesn’t say, “Try harder.”
It says, “It is finished.”

That’s why I stopped trying to be holy.
And why, for the first time, I actually started to be.

The Bible Is About Walking Out of Egypt

Egypt wasn’t just a country.
It was an identity.
It was the place where God’s people were owned, broken, and told every day who they were not.

So when God delivered Israel, He wasn’t just relocating them. He was remaking them.

Egypt Sticks Around

The problem is, you can leave Egypt and still carry it with you.

Fresh out of slavery, the people of Israel found themselves in the wilderness longing for their old chains.

“Would to God we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the flesh pots, and when we did eat bread to the full…”
(Exodus 16:3)

They remembered the meals, not the masters. The food, not the whips. The security, not the slavery.

That’s how Egypt works. Even bondage can feel safer than freedom when freedom feels uncertain.

Not Just an Exit—An Entrance

God didn’t just get His people out of Egypt. He was bringing them to Himself.

“And I will take you to me for a people, and I will be to you a God…”
(Exodus 6:7)

Exodus wasn’t just about escape. It was about belonging.
Not just leaving behind what enslaved them, but entering into covenant with the God who loved them.

Salvation is never only about what you’re saved from.
It’s about what you’re saved for.

One Step… and a Thousand More

Crossing the Red Sea happened in a moment.
But learning to walk with God in freedom? That took years.

The wilderness is proof that walking out of Egypt is harder than one step.
They were out, but not yet home.
And every day, they had to decide again: Will we keep walking, or will we turn back?

So do we.

Jesus, the Greater Exodus

On the mount of Transfiguration, Moses and Elijah spoke with Jesus about His “exodus” (Luke 9:31).
His death and resurrection would be the final Red Sea crossing.
A way out of slavery to sin. A way into the freedom of God’s presence.

And still—following Him is a walk.
Not one decision at an altar years ago, but daily: “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.” (Luke 9:23)

Walking Out of Egypt

The Bible isn’t about strong people who never look back.
It’s about a faithful God who keeps bringing His people out—again and again—until Egypt is no longer home.

And maybe that’s you.
Maybe you’ve left, but Egypt still whispers.
Maybe the wilderness feels longer than you thought it would.

Don’t stop walking.
The God who parts seas doesn’t abandon His people in the desert.
If He brought you out, He will bring you in.

Because the Bible is about walking out of Egypt—
and into Him.