by Kevin Tillman | Jun 11, 2026 | Blog, Thoughts
Several years ago I walked through an old church building that had been mostly abandoned, and thoughts flooded my mind. The sanctuary and pews were still there. There was a piano near the platform that looked like nobody had touched it in years. Hymnals were in all of the racks. Dust covered almost everything. It was a strange feeling because all the pieces were still present. The building hadn’t disappeared, but the life that had once filled the place was gone.
I remember wondering how many prayers had been prayed there and how many people had come to Christ. I thought about how many funerals, weddings, baptisms, and ordinary Sundays had happened within those walls. The room itself was full of reminders that something had once happened there, but it was obvious that not much was happening there now.
I’ve thought about that moment more than once over the years, and for some reason it came back to me recently when I ran across this quote from A.W. Tozer.
“If the Holy Spirit was withdrawn from the church today, 95 percent of what we do would go on and nobody would know the difference.”
I don’t know if Tozer’s percentage is right, and honestly, I don’t think that’s the part that matters. What keeps nagging at me is the image of that empty church building, because it occurs to me that it’s possible for the evidence of life to remain long after life itself has left. That sounds dramatic, I know. Maybe I’m being too dramatic. But I’ve seen enough in life to know it can happen quietly. I’ve been in multiple church facilities over the years. That image from years ago, is not too uncommon.
Think about this… A person can keep a house exactly the way someone left it. The same pictures on the walls, and the same chair in the corner. That same old Bible on the nightstand. Everything in place, and yet the room feels painfully empty because presence is not the same thing as the arrangement of furniture. The room still looks the same, but the loved one’s presence is no longer there. It’s just not the same. At all!
I wonder sometimes if churches can learn to arrange things so well that we stop noticing what is absent. That is a hard sentence for me to write because I love the church. I love gathering with God’s people. I love preaching. I love seeing volunteers show up early and stay late. I love the ordinary faithfulness that nobody claps for. So this is not me standing outside the church taking shots at it. I’m standing inside it, in the trenches of ministry every single week.
And maybe that’s why Tozer’s words bother me.
There is a kind of church life that can keep moving by force of habit. The announcements still get made and the songs still begin on time. The sermon still gets preached. Somebody still knows where the offering plates are, or the QR code, depending on how modern the church is trying to be that week. The potlucks continue. The friendships are still there. Every week the doors are opened, the lights come on, and everyone smiles at each other. We are doing church, and most of that is good. But somewhere underneath all of it, there is this question I don’t really know how to escape: are we depending on the Lord, or have we just gotten familiar with the routines?
I don’t think that question can be answered just by looking at the room. A full room can be spiritually empty, while an empty room can be full of prayer. For the most part, we usually don’t know as much as we think we know.
As I’ve been studying the book of Acts, what I do know is that the early church seemed almost painfully aware that they could not produce spiritual life on their own. When they were threatened, they prayed. When they were confused, they waited. When the doors were opened, they still needed direction. Their confidence was never in their ability to keep the movement going. It was in the God who had started it.
That’s the part I keep circling back to. It was all started by God, and now it’s sustained by God. But, unfortunately it becomes too easy to try to manage without God once things become familiar. We don’t say that out loud. We aren’t processing the thought of “we got it from here God”. Nobody puts that in the mission statement, it just happens in the hidden places of the heart. Our prayers slowly become shorter because our experience has made us efficient, and our dependence gets replaced by whatever worked last time.
I hate to admit it but I’ve done that more than I want to admit. There have been multiple times when I prepared more than I prayed. There’s no other way to say it than “I leaned on my own understanding”. Too often in sermon prep I have thought through what needed to be said but didn’t sit long enough with the One who needed to say it through me. That is uncomfortable to confess, but it’s true. I suspect it’s not just true in my life.
I think this is where true revival has to begin. In a place of honesty. It’s a place that is much smaller than a platform and much deeper than a church calendar. I truly believe it begins when a pastor, a church member, a worship leader, a Sunday School teacher, a tired believer sitting in the back row finally admits, “Lord, I know how to do the routine, but I don’t want to do this without You.” That kind of prayer probably won’t impress anybody, and it may not sound like much. But, I know God hears this prayer!
I still think of that old sanctuary from time to time. The settled dust, and the quiet strange sadness of seeing a place that still carried the shape of worship but no longer held the sound of it. I don’t want my life or the church to become that. I don’t think the answer is panic or guilt or trying to manufacture some emotional experience so we can reassure ourselves that God is present. The answer is probably much simpler. We return to our first love, by slowing down enough to notice what we’ve been missing. We ask God to make us hungry again. Maybe, before we start asking for revival in the church, we let Him ask what has grown cold in us. (Ouch that one stung!)
The scariest thing about Tozer’s quote is not that it might be true somewhere else, it’s that it might be true closer than we think. And, if that’s true, revival doesn’t begin with looking around… it begins with looking within.
I walked through that abandoned church years ago, my prayer is that I never become one!
by Kevin Tillman | May 28, 2026 | Blog, Thoughts
by Kevin Tillman | May 21, 2026 | Bible Study, Blog, Thoughts
It’s 1446 BC. God gives instructions for the Israelites to place the blood of a lamb on the doorposts of their homes. That blood would be the sign for the angel to pass over that house and spare the firstborn. This was the final and most horrific of the plagues, and it was the event that finally set the Hebrews free from slavery in Egypt. That annual celebration would become known as Passover.
But, interestingly enough, another feast was also instituted that same year.
Leviticus 23:15–16
“You shall also count for yourselves from the day after the sabbath, from the day when you brought in the sheaf of the wave offering; there shall be seven complete sabbaths. You shall count fifty days to the day after the seventh sabbath; then you shall present a new grain offering to the Lord.”
This feast was to be celebrated fifty days later. Israel was instructed to count seven weeks, and because of that counting, the feast became known as Shavuot, meaning “Feast of Weeks.”
At first glance, Shavuot appears to simply be an agricultural feast … a celebration of harvest. Israel would bring the firstfruits of wheat before the Lord in gratitude for His provision. But like so many Old Testament feasts, it pointed beyond itself. This feast was prophetic.
Fifty days after the original Passover and the Exodus from Egypt, the nation of Israel found itself standing at the base of Mount Sinai. They had been delivered … but what now? On that mountain God revealed His Law to His people.
Passover was for their deliverance, but Shavuot was for their empowerment. Shavuot was God showing His people how to live in the freedom He had given them.
Every year afterward, the Feast of Weeks reminded Israel of God’s goodness in the giving of the Torah … His instruction, His Law. But like all the Feasts of the Lord, a deeper meaning was still coming.
Now it’s AD 33.
Passover and Shavuot had been celebrated annually for nearly fifteen centuries. Every year reminded Israel of God’s deliverance from Egypt and His gift of the Law. But in AD 33, everything changed.
Jesus died on the cross during Passover. The blood that had once been placed on doorposts was now flowing from the cross as the spotless Lamb of God gave His life for the sins of the world.
Then came two more feasts. The Feast of Unleavened Bread was a week-long reminder that Israel had left Egypt behind completely. There was no returning to bondage. During that feast in AD 33, Jesus’ sinless body lay in the tomb. Then came the Feast of Firstfruits, when the first portion of the harvest was presented to God in anticipation of everything still to come. On that very feast day, Jesus rose from the grave, defeating sin and death forever.
Think about that.
For centuries these feasts had been celebrated year after year as reminders of God’s faithfulness. Then in AD 33, Passover, Unleavened Bread, and Firstfruits took on deeper meaning through the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus. Each event happened precisely on the feast day itself. Some may call that coincidence … but that sure is a lot of coincidence.
While many Bible students recognize the connection between those feasts and the cross and resurrection, the next feast often becomes the forgotten feast.
Fifty days after Passover in 1446 BC, God gave His Law to a newly delivered people. It was empowerment after deliverance. That was Shavuot.
Now fast forward again to AD 33. Jesus tells His disciples to wait in an upper room.
What were they doing while they waited? I can’t prove this, but part of me wonders if there was anticipation in that room. Jesus had died on Passover. He had been buried during Unleavened Bread. He had risen on Firstfruits. Could it be they wondered if God was about to do something again on Shavuot?
I think it’s possible. And oh, did something happen.
The Greek translation of Shavuot is Pentecost, a word meaning “fiftieth.” Pentecost was not a new Christian invention. Shavuot is Pentecost. Pentecost is Shavuot. It is simply the Greek translation of the Hebrew feast. That means that by AD 33, Pentecost had already been celebrated for fifteen hundred years, just like Passover, Unleavened Bread, and Firstfruits.
This was not a new day. It was a feast day. This was not a Christian creation, this was an annual reminder.
Could it be that while sitting in that upper room they wondered, “What is God going to do on Pentecost?” Deliverance had already come through the cross and resurrection, but now it was time for empowerment.
On Pentecost in 1446 BC, God gave the Law. On Pentecost in AD 33, God gave the Holy Spirit.
At Sinai, God formed a people. In the upper room, God filled a people. At Sinai, the Law came down. In the upper room, the Spirit came in.
Why is this feast so often forgotten? It’s hard to say. It aligns perfectly with the others chronologically and theologically. Maybe it’s time we remember it again.
Passover and the cross brought deliverance.
Pentecost and the Holy Spirit brought and still brings empowerment.
It all fits together with exact precision. Why are we surprised? Some may call it coincidence … but once again, that sure is a lot of coincidence.
Happy Pentecost. Let’s remember that God didn’t just send Jesus to set us free, He also sent the Holy Spirit to live inside of us, to guide us, and yes, to empower us. The same Spirit that filled that upper room in AD 33 is still filling believers today.
by Kevin Tillman | May 7, 2026 | Bible Study, Blog, Thoughts
Over the last few weeks, as we’ve gone through our latest sermon series, I’ve thought a lot about how good people have become at hiding. Good people .. the type that have been in church a long time. They aren’t necessarily hiding from God, but from each other. Most people, especially seasoned church-goers know how to function while carrying a lot internally. We go to work, we answer texts, we show up at church every week, and we even laugh at the right moments, we just keep moving through life… all while something underneath is unsettled.
This latest series felt important to me not because these struggles are rare, but because they’re common. Almost painfully common. We all have stuff we are dealing with, and we’ve become too accustomed to hiding it.
Anxiety has become so normal that many people don’t even recognize how weighed down they are. Their mind is constantly running. There’s always something sitting in the background. That pressure that doesn’t go away. Even during moments that are supposed to feel restful, their thoughts keep moving. It’s the proverbial hamster wheel analogy.
Then there are the things people carry from years ago that somehow still feel like they are happening today. That shame and regret that just keeps lingering. Time passes, but certain moments still feel emotionally present. A person can know God forgives them and still quietly live as if they owe something for who they used to be. Shame has a way of handcuffing us from living in the present. It’s hard to live in joy while burdened by past failures.
And disappointment… honestly, that one probably sits deeper than most people care to admit. Especially when faith is involved. It’s one thing to be disappointed in life. It’s another thing to feel confused about what God allowed. Most believers eventually go through a season where reality doesn’t line up with what they were hoping and praying for. Those moments can either deepen our faith or slowly erode it depending on how we walk through them. A lot of people become guarded after enough disappointment. They’re not rebellious. They just stop expecting much because disappointment feels exhausting after a while. Past disappointments keep us from hope.
And somewhere underneath all of that is this other question many people wrestle with quietly: “What am I even supposed to be doing with my life?” It’s not some oscar-worthy moment where we break down in tears. Usually it’s just a quiet tension underneath. We feel that we just haven’t lived up to our potential. We start asking ourselves questions: Am I moving in the right direction? Am I wasting time? Am I missing something God wants for me?
The older I get, the more I realize most people are not looking for a perfectly mapped-out future nearly as much as they’re looking for reassurance that their life matters and that God has not forgotten them. We all need to remember that God is not absent in the middle of human struggle. He’s not distant. He’s present right in the middle of the chaos. He’s present in the middle of your confusion. He’s present while you are still trying to figure things out. He’s present while the prayers are still unanswered. He’s still present even while you are trying to recover emotionally from something you never expected to carry this long.
I think sometimes we imagine spiritual growth as becoming emotionally untouchable. Like maturity means you never wrestle, never question or feel overwhelmed again. Like we somehow put on the “SC” Super Christian cape and outfit. But Scripture doesn’t really teach that. Some of the people God used for the biggest assignments still walked through fear, uncertainty, grief, frustration, and even exhaustion.
What changed them was not pretending those things didn’t exist. It was continuing to bring those things to God instead of running from Him. It’s so important to be reminded of this. A lot of people are tired. I hear it all the time. They aren’t just tired physically. It’s a deep down tired. It’s an emotional level tired that lingers, and tired people often start believing things that aren’t true. They start believing they’re stuck, or even worse disqualified from being used by God.
But God is still working, and growth rarely feels dramatic while it’s happening. I truly believe God’s best work happens gradually. It’s a quiet growth that you don’t even recognize until much later in life.
Whatever you may be struggling with today… God is with you. Not that polished version of you, but the real version of you that is a work in progress. After all, that’s what we all are… a work in progress.
by Kevin Tillman | Apr 2, 2026 | Blog, Thoughts
It felt like it was over. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just that quiet kind of weight where you already know how the story ends. They had seen the crowds… They had heard the shouting… They had watched Him ride into the city like something big was finally happening…. They had been waiting on this moment for what seemed like forever.
And then it just… started slipping. What they thought would happen, wasn’t happening. Their expectations were crushed. By Friday, whatever hope they were holding onto was hanging on a cross. By Saturday… it was gone.
We skip that part pretty fast, because we know what’s coming. They didn’t. To them, this wasn’t leading anywhere. It wasn’t building toward anything. It was over.
What’s interesting is how quickly it turned.
Just a few days earlier, people were all in. They were lining the streets, celebrating, convinced that this was it. This was everything they’d been waiting for. Finally, the long awaited King was going to make everything right. They had expectations, but they were seeing it through their own lens. They had a version of how this was supposed to go. What kind of King He would be and what He would fix first.
But Jesus didn’t move that way. Not because He couldn’t… but because He wasn’t doing what they thought He should be doing. And once that started to become clear, things felt off. Expectations weren’t being met, and frustrations were rising.
You ever had that moment? Where something you were sure about… starts to not look the way you thought it would? That’s exactly where they were.
As the week progressed, it became more and more obvious that the way Jesus was dealing with things, was not the way they had hoped. More tension. More resistance. Conversations that didn’t settle anything, just stirred more and more questions. You can almost feel it building underneath everything. This isn’t going how they thought it would go.
And then Friday shows up and removes any doubt. This is done. All of the years of hoping that this Jesus was the answer were now dead and buried. There’s nothing hopeful about a cross. Nothing that suggests things are about to turn around. It looks final… because it is final. At least from where they were standing.
And then Saturday. Honestly, Saturday might be the hardest part. Because absolutely nothing happens. No explanation. No movement. Just time to sit in it.
That kind of silence can mess with you. You start replaying everything, trying to figure out where it went wrong. What you missed. You start thinking, “Maybe I misunderstood, or maybe this wasn’t what I thought. I thought I knew, but I guess I was wrong.”
We know that space so well. When nothing’s changing and you’re just… there with it…. stuck!
But then Sunday came…
There was no announcement. There was no warning. There was no dramatic music playing in the background.
Just an ordinary day. Just a couple of women walking toward a tomb, dealing with a loss and living in grief. But, as they approached… Something was off. Things didn’t seem right. The stone’s not where it should be. The tomb… empty. Then a few short words, “He is not here.” That’s it.
A short and simple message. But it changed everything, because what they thought was the end… wasn’t. It just looked like it.
And that’s where this stops being their story and starts hitting a little closer to home for us. We still do the same thing today. We have those moments that feel final and we call them finished. Things fall apart. Plans don’t work. Doors close. Prayers don’t get answered the way we thought they would. And, without even saying it out loud, we start to settle into it. We just accept things the way they are.
Our mantra becomes, “I guess this is just how it is.” But the resurrection doesn’t let you stay there. It doesn’t always explain everything. It doesn’t always fix things the way you’d want. But it does remind you of this… Just because it looks like the end… doesn’t mean God is done.
They thought it was over. They weren’t even close. Maybe there’s something in your life right now that feels just as settled. Like there’s no coming back from it. But God has a way of working in places that feel sealed off to us. The tomb looked final too.
It looked like the end… until it wasn’t!
