Dear Church Family,

With so many incidents of violence in churches over the years, we have tried to be proactive with our security team and continue to provide training for preparedness. I’m so grateful for our brothers and sisters here at Lakeside who serve in that capacity. Most of you have likely heard or read about the incident at the church in Minnesota this week, which was so disturbing that I was at a loss for words. We need to continue to pray for our country and our world. I did read an excellent article by Pastor Rich Bitterman which I hope will encourage you—

A Line Was Crossed Today When Protest Entered a Church

There are places a society instinctively protects, and today a church was not one of them.

We had just closed our Bibles at Cedar Ridge Baptist. The final “Amen” had been spoken. We had opened Zechariah 4 this morning and I had preached it with the conviction that this world is not friendly to the light. That the work we are called to do will often feel impossible. That the church will stand, not because it is large or loud, but because it is lit from above.

Then, hours later, I saw it.

A church in Minnesota, Cities Church in the Twin Cities, had its service interrupted by activists. Protesters entered during worship. A livestream caught it. Don Lemon was there. The sanctuary was turned into a confrontation space. And the outrage, the confusion, the noise, it all went viral.

They were targeted over a pastor reportedly connected to ICE. Public records do link that pastor to a leadership role in immigration enforcement. But what unfolded was more than a debate over paperwork. It was the interruption of worship itself, and that is what deserves to be addressed.

What I had preached that morning suddenly felt less like exposition and more like dispatch. As if God, by His providence, had dropped a flame from heaven to remind us again that His lamp still burns.

Wake Up!

Zechariah had fallen into a kind of slumber. The fog that settles in when discouragement clouds your eyes and the work of God feels stuck.

So the angel returned. Shook him. Woke him up.

And what did he see?

A lampstand. Gold. Seven flames. Seven channels of oil. And two olive trees, one on each side, pouring oil through pipes into a bowl that fed the flames. No priests refilling it. No hands adjusting wicks. No bustle or sweat. Just the steady, quiet miracle of light, born of oil that never stops flowing.

“What is this?” Zechariah asked.

And the answer came like a sword sliding from its sheath.

“Not by might. Not by power. But by My Spirit,” says the Lord of hosts.

When the Mountains Block the Path

The people of God had returned from exile. They had rebuilt the foundation of the temple and then froze as work halted as the enemies circled. The site lay silent for fourteen long years. Zerubbabel, the governor, stood at the front of a project that looked more like a tombstone than a promise.

Maybe you know that posture. The world feels too loud. Your church feels too small. You look around and see outrage getting the microphone and faith being shoved out the side door. And you wonder if the flickering flame in your own soul is enough to keep going another day.

You hear the chants as you watch the footage. You watch the sanctuary turned into a battlefield.

And then the mountain looms. Too much. Too broken. Too far gone.

But the voice speaks again, “What are you, O great mountain? Before Zerubbabel you shall become a plain.”

The Fire Does Not Need You to Strike the Match

This lamp in Zechariah’s vision, it was not powered by hands. Not sustained by muscle. No man stood behind it, sweating to keep it alive. It burned because God fed it.

The olive trees dripped oil because the Lord had ordained them to. This reminds us that the people of God are not self-lit. We are not preserved by votes or volume or visibility. We are lamps that burn only because the oil flows from above.

Christ is the tree. Christ is the root. Christ was crushed to release the oil. And the Holy Spirit, the fire from Pentecost, still flows from that crushing, still fills the lampstand, still lights the flame.

The sanctuary may be stormed. The livestream may rage. The noise may shake the walls.

But the fire burns. Still.

Oil That Only Comes From Crushing

What drips into those bowls in Zechariah’s vision is not just imagery. It is blood and it is cost. It is the Spirit of God, poured out because Christ was first poured out, body broken, breath given, curse carried.

There is no flame apart from that cross. There is no strength apart from that Spirit.

And if you do not yet belong to Him, if all you have seen of Christianity is noise, or politics, or hypocrisy, I plead with you. Look past the mess. Look at the lampstand. Look at the oil.

The flame still burns because the risen Christ lives.
The invitation still stands because grace still flows.

You are not too far gone.
You are not too late.

The church shines not because of its people, but because of its Savior.

Small Things. Great Glory.

There were those in Zechariah’s day who looked at the rubble and laughed.

They said the work was nothing. The effort was wasted. The foundation meant failure.

But the Lord rebukes them in verse 10, “Who dares despise the day of small things?”

God rejoices to see a plumb line in Zerubbabel’s hand, because God sees the finished temple even while the stones are still scattered. He sees the flame even when it flickers. He sees the church even when it is ignored, ridiculed, or shouted down.

The seven eyes of the Lord roam the earth, and they see.

God’s attention is not captured by noise.

It is drawn to obedience that continues, to Scripture opened again, to Christ preached without protection, to repentance that costs pride, to endurance that refuses to quit.

It is drawn to the church that remains.

Keep the Lamp Under the Oil

Zechariah’s final question is wise. He does not just accept the vision. He presses further.

What are the two olive trees? What are the branches that drip the oil?

The answer: they are the anointed ones, the priest and the king. In Zechariah’s day, Joshua and Zerubbabel. But all of it is pointing to the One who would come and combine the priesthood, the kingship, and the prophetic office into one blazing person.

Christ.

He is the tree. He is the supply.

And if the lampstand stays close to Him, the oil will never run dry.

But if we move the lamp, if we drift, compromise, bend, or bow to gain the world’s permission, then the lamp may still stand, but the flame will die.

Stay under the oil and near the tree. Stay close to Christ.

Do Not Be Afraid

Christian, hear this. The disruptions will grow louder. The headlines will grow stranger. You may find your worship interrupted, your faith misunderstood, your convictions called dangerous. Around the world, the church already knows what comes next.

This was not the suffering our brothers and sisters endure elsewhere, but it was a sign that the shelter once granted to worship is thinning.

When worship is challenged, the answer is not volume or vengeance. The answer is steadiness. The church gathers, prays, sings, and submits itself again to the Word, trusting that light does its work best when it is not trying to win the dark, but to shine in it.

But none of this surprises the God who spoke to Zechariah. He has seen a thousand mountains crumble.

He has lit lamps in darker times than this.

And He will finish what He started. The final stone will be set. The temple will rise. The fire will never die.

And when it is done, we will not say we built it.

We will say, “Grace. Grace to it.”

And the flame will still be burning.

Press On!

Mark