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A message to the Counterfeit…
I speak as the One whose Name was given from the mouth of the messenger, the One who bears the Name of the Father, the One in whom all the fullness of the Godhead dwells bodily, the One upon whom the Spirit rests without measure. I am not a symbol you may rename. I am not a substitute you may redesign. I am not an idol to be carved out of syllables and custom. I am Yehoshua. I do not lease portions of My Spirit as if I were a merchant of fragments; I breathe the whole Breath upon those who are Mine and I seal them as My own. The mark of that seal is not a badge pinned to a chest; it is the living capacity to love as I have loved you. Power is not noise and frenzy. Power is the authority to lay down your life and to raise another. Power is the resolve to forgive when wounded, to heal when resisted, to stand when the world bows. Power fulfills the law because love is the law fulfilled.
I am not indifferent to what has been done in My Name, nor am I passive while another name sits where Mine must be. I take it personally when a counterfeit sits on the throne of your lips and parasitizes your worship. I take it personally when you gather to gorge on speeches but refuse to eat the bread of obedience. I take it personally when you prefer a stage to a cross, sentiment to Spirit, applause to truth. You call it church; I call it a market of words where power is priced by charisma and truth is trimmed to fit an hour. You call yourselves professors of faith; I search for possessors of My life. Professors sing at the summit about what they have not carried into the valley. Possessors descend with Me where the broken wait and My power proves itself in wounds healed, debts paid, demons silenced, dead hopes raised.
Hear Me: the Holy Spirit is not an ambience. He is My Breath, My seal, My abiding presence. Where He dwells, I dwell. Where He rules, I reign. He is not measured in drips but poured as a river. He does not decorate a life—He animates it. When I said, “You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you,” I did not promise a mood; I promised My operation. That operation is not confined to a sanctuary; it turns streets into sanctuaries. It makes tables altars, prisons temples, and wounds testimonies. If you do not bear His fruit you do not bear My Name, and if you will not be led by Him you are not led by Me. The measure of your sermons is not their craft but their consequence; if love does not move through you, truth has not moved in you.
You have asked for contrast, so I will remind you of what I did and what those who are Mine still do. When I walked among you I summoned the Twelve and the Seventy(-two) and placed My authority upon them. I sent them not with slogans but with orders: proclaim the reign of God, heal the sick, cleanse the unclean, drive out the unclean spirits, give as freely as you received. They returned with one confession on their lips: “Even the demons are subject to us in Your Name.” They learned at My side what command feels like when it speaks to storms and the winds submit, when bread multiplies in faithful hands and hunger loses jurisdiction, when a word spoken in obedience arrives at the exact colt in the exact village at the exact time. Even before the Day I clothed them from on high, I let them taste borrowed power so they would hunger for indwelling Presence.
Then I ascended, and I did not leave orphans. I breathed again—this time as fire—and they were not the same men. The timid spoke with the thunder of conviction. The lame stood and walked at a gate because My Name was not a memory but an authority alive on their tongues. Shadows became conduits of healing not because shadows are mystical but because My life had saturated their ordinary. A lie to the Holy Spirit fell dead at their feet, because holiness is not an idea in My house; it is jurisdiction. A girl rose when they called My Name, and a boy awakened when sleep had become too long, because death recognizes Me even when I speak through My own. Prophets did not guess; they heard. Journeys were not gambles; they were guided. Prisons broke not because iron is weak but because praise in My Spirit is stronger. They held everything in common because love counts cost and then pays it. They bled with joy because My Name is worthy of wounds. This is what demonstration looks like. This is how the Godhead moves when I indwell a vessel: word with weight, love with teeth, judgment with mercy, guidance with clarity, endurance with singing.
Now look at what you call power where My Spirit is absent. There is polish without Presence, performance without piercing, volume without virtue. You build gatherings by geography and habit and feed each other with the powerlessness of the pulpit week after week, then wonder why the street does not tremble when you arrive. You crave another weekend because Monday exposes you. You chase a feeling because obedience offends you. You call discernment suspicion, holiness harshness, and repentance legalism; then you rename compromise “love.” You love your platforms more than My poor and your narratives more than My Name. You do the opposite of My pattern, and you baptize it in novelty and noise. You trace your ancestry to an altar call but not to a cross; you speak of destiny but do not carry death to self. You call this vitality. I call it a form without force.
You say, “But we have testimonies.” I know what you say. “We were saved under that other name; we were healed under that other name; we spoke in tongues under that other name; we fell and shook and ran and shouted under that other name.” I answer you plainly because I love you enough to wound your pride: signs can be stolen, imitated, permitted, or weaponized when the heart will not love the truth. The adversary does not need to abolish religion when he can redirect worship. He does not need to deny Me when he can rename Me. He trades on substitution. He sits quietly where a substitute sits loudly. If the authority of My covenant Name is not present in you, the covering of My authority is not over you. Where covering is absent, infestation is brave. Where protection is rejected, oppression is patient. Where truth is bartered, deception is generous. I have seen demons inhabit the rows that sing about Me because the house tolerates the counterfeit that displaces Me. Do you think the one who lied in a garden cannot stage a healing to bind you to his Jesus? Do you think the father of lies cannot dress a spirit in imitation glossolalia to tether you to a counterfeit gospel? Do you think wonders cannot be borrowed long enough to buy your allegiance? You call it testimony; hell calls it retention.
This is why your ecstasy dies at your exit doors. The current you feel in the sanctuary does not follow you because it is not Mine or it is not indwelling. Performance power does not travel. It needs a crowd to feed it and a stage to inflate it. My power walks into funerals and argues with death, steps into prisons and rekeys the locks, sits at tables and turns enemies into family, goes to the poor and makes the poor rich in faith, meets the possessed and evicts their captors, meets the sick and introduces their bodies to hope. If what you carry cannot survive a hostile room it is not My Spirit you are carrying but the memory of a moment. I did not die to make you curators of religious experiences; I died and rose to make you living conduits of God.
I will not pretend neutrality about the counterfeit name. A messenger spoke Mine before I took breath. I manifested the Name of the Father and guarded those given to Me in it. I came in My Father’s Name; many refused Me and received another. I am not flattered by your substitutes. When you enthrone a replacement, you empower the adversary you claim to resist. You think you are calling on Me, yet you are insulating yourselves from Me with a label that carries no covenant with Me. You think you are provoking heaven, and you have become entertainment for hell. You think you are secure because you can describe a night when you felt flame; security is proven when your love perseveres and your works testify in daylight. You think the fruit is noise; I say the fruit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control—born of My Spirit, not manufactured by your will.
I speak also to shepherds who fatten on applause while your flock starves for Presence. You soften truth and harden hearts. You mist a room with sentiment and call it the river of God. You groom personalities and starve character. You teach men to profess Me and never put the cross in their hands to possess Me. You measure success by attendance and budgets while I measure you by widows visited, orphans defended, prisoners remembered, enemies reconciled, bodies healed, demons driven out, nations discipled. The hireling flees when wolves come; the shepherd bleeds to keep them from the throat. Which are you?
And to those who are Mine, hear My reassurance and My charge. You are not empty if you are not loud. You are not failing if you are faithful. You are not powerless if you are loving in the face of hatred and obedient when it costs you friends. Keep My Name on your lips as covenant, not as superstition. Keep My Spirit in your bones as fire, not as fog. Walk into the valleys; I walk with you. Speak to what resists; I will confirm what I authorize. Judge with right judgment; I will stand behind your sentence when you stand beneath My scepter. Share what you have; I will multiply it. Endure with joy; I will count your scars as songs. Prophecy with clarity; I will guide you when doors close and open. Do not envy the stages that glitter and the crowds that roar; envy holiness and hunger for righteousness. The world is not waiting for another professor to explain Me; the world is waiting for possessors who make Me visible.
Now I make a decree and I make it as the One to whom every knee will bow and every tongue will confess. Return to My Name and I will return to you with the river of My Spirit. Renounce the substitute and I will tear down the scaffolding of deception that props up your religion. Confess that you have loved noise more than neighbors, performance more than presence, safety more than truth, and I will wash you. Ask for My Spirit not as a garnish but as governance, and I will indwell not your hour but your life. Come out from the gatherings that feed you powerlessness and step into fellowship that feeds the poor, heals the sick, frees the bound, and tells the truth to kings. Do not bring Me offerings of branding and strategy; bring Me a contrite heart and I will breathe into it until it stands upright. Do not offer Me borrowed names; bring Me the Name I gave you. Call on Me as Yehoshua, for I am salvation.
And to those who will not return, know this: your form will continue to wither, and your wonders will eat you from within. The spirits you flirt with will collect their price. The power you borrow will leave you naked when confronted, as it left pretenders bloodied and ashamed before a single unclean spirit. The house you build on charisma will collapse under the weight of a storm you thought your personality could charm. You will grow louder to mask hollowness, busier to evade obedience, harsher to hide fear. I warn you because I want you, but I will not barter for you. I will be loved as I am or I will not be loved by you at all.
This is My offense and this is My invitation. I am Yehoshua. I will not share My glory with a substitute. I will not lend My Spirit to a lie. I will not be worshiped by a name that is not Mine. I give Myself whole to those who give themselves whole to Me. I call you out of performance into possession, out of explanation into demonstration, out of borrowed syllables into covenant speech. I call you from the hilltops of talk into the valleys where My power walks. I call you from praising a Jesus who cannot save to bowing before Yehoshua who does. Choose the Name that names you. Choose the Spirit who seals you. Choose the love that proves you. Then rise and do what I did and what I still do through those who are Mine—because the counterfeit is powerless, but you were not made to be.
