Personal words from God

Recently I read an article by Bob DeWaay in which he discusses the relevance of personal words from God.  The address for the article is: http://cicministry.org/commentary/issue98.htm.    Can we as Christians hear from God in an extra-scriptural manner?  Personally, I feel a little torn about it.  Most of the Spirit-inspired/directed revelations I’ve had are directions to scripture or being reminded of scripture.   John 14:25-26 says “These things I have spoken to you while I am still with you.  But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you.”  This seems different than trying to hear something utterly beyond scripture from the Lord.

The references to Deuteronomy 13 and 18 about prophecy really caused me to think.   According to these passages, it would appear that any predictive prophecies must be 100% accurate.  This would make any prophets who have erred false prophets.  That seems a bit harsh doesn’t it?  I’m hoping this post will get us all thinking and discussing.  What do you think?  What are the nature of personal words if we do receive them, or might it not be helpful to veer away from this terminology altogether and just speak of providential direction of God as Dewaay suggests?  In what sense does the Holy Spirit lead us?  Blessings,

Mike

Poems

These are several poems I've written lately.

Crooked Mammon

Your brazen arrows of outrageous fortune cannot pierce this leviathan mouth
I find that all these arrows go south
While corporate whores speak cogently, but silently afraid
Afraid of God and man who has become to them a god
Who they worship with deepest solemnity
Burning their incence to Ishtar while violet white light blazes through box sets and sets all things right
Yet this right is not right but o so sinister
Malthusian ministers, Neitzchian nightmares of corporatist control seek to shudder my soul
And yet take heart I have overcome the world
Says the mystery of godliness unfurled
I find the world is bleak, but for Gulgotha's bleeding peak
But this world though dead in harlatry and sin
Will come forth like Lazarus again.
Fear not I have overcome.
Smite the Shepherd and scatter the flock, yet this catastrophe gathers sheep from all nations.
The smitten Shepherd shall smite crooked mammon and save with mighty hands of mercy.

Memorial Day Poem

Fireworks and glass-eyed smiles
Cries of laughter while the corporate mob laughs
Come bathe in jest while bodies pile and death and hell followed after
Sweet sights and melodies while children cry and predator drones sigh
Why must masses fail to consider that striving is in vain?
Blood can't wash away blood.
For death's dye stains too deep
And ravening lions tend to creep like carrion birds
While a nation teaches whores to be whores and tries to settle the score.
And how can dead works cleanse leperous sores and world loving whores?
How can empires and dead kings cause dead hearts to sing and virtue to begin?
What man can ransom another's soul or make a people whole?
It is too costly and cannot suffice.
This world cannot redeem itself or avenge itself.
Only a second death and a second life accomplished by a perfect Christ.

Unknown Jewel

I would enjoy someone like you to be with?
Only it has to be true
Perhaps you're just a picture of an unknown jewel.
And a sweet unknown soul with a sharp wit.
And a lightening lip.
I'd like a prophetic soul to utter the word of the Lord
a swift burden, a sweet kick in the ass.
A righteous one to smite me
And make me dream of Jesus every moment
And keep my soul in knowledge of the atonement.
Jesus be my truest Lord and keep me true.
With no shackles what can I do?

Jesus

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.  This precious name, the sweetest frame.
You take away your people's sins,
give them love, joy, and peace within.
You speak the simple truth.
Your word testifies its own proof.
Your life is flawless.
Your death has drawn us.
Your resurrection has dawned on us.
Your person of paradoxical perfections.
Calling for spiritual worship.
Not mere man but God enfleshed.
Your perfect surpassing love.
Your Spirit given earnest interacts.
You're alive today and soon returning.
This world will bow the knee,
To a criminal  hung on a tree.
And so I give my all to thee.


Illusion

When you've tried so hard to impress, but it's not enough.
Your rough touch brings only confusion and temporary delusion.
The illusion of magic gives way to gimmick explanations.
When you've mistook an illusion for the real when fabrication counterfeits for truth
and subtle youth offers its own version of proof.
Proof is in the pudding, yet this pudding is beginning to taste sour and make dour.
Coward parts seem like art, but the manmade farse is all it is.
All I want is a divine willed and wined woman, who leaps outside filthy stale religious boxes like cardboard cutouts.
Someone who has every symbol pointed at the prize, and so wise, not dull of hearing like a Jonah running from divine mission.
Not running from the great commission.
Rejoicing in rational and robust mercy of the Creator King and Savior King.
Someone who bears the holy things, but dances in rapt wonder at the rolling thunder and awestruck by Calvary's sweet song.
 A grace paragon, a singing gentle saint, who knows her sin can and can't taint.
A wise woman who weaves love and wildness, boldness and sweet mildness.
I'll not take a silly sap, but a sheer laughing spite at absurdities and radical love of the truth;
a trust in Jesus who is truth will be my only proof.
Jesus who is truth will be my only proof.