I’d like to tell you of a story that happened many years ago, a story of a close friendship. And I’d like to tell you of a dream that also goes back many years, though not as many as the story.

It was a long time ago- in about the late seventies- that God, who gives dreams, sent me a vision as I slept. I was standing upon a hill with my friend Louie. In his hand he held a golf club and was looking far off to where he needed to drive his next shot. I stood a short distance behind him. I watched as he prepared himself for his swing. Then turning his head to me he said these words: “Joe, pray for me.” There was a sense of urgency in his eyes that defied description. What was required of him was that he had to drive the ball about four hundred yards. The ball then needed to hit a house brick which stood upright, but on a bit of an angle. The ball had to hit off a particular part of the brick, and from there go into the hole, located about ten yards from the brick. Something of the highest importance depended on him being successful. This was what I saw in his face when he asked me to pray.

Immediately after he spoke to me he drew back his club and swung with all of his strength. At that point I awoke from my sleep. Then something happened to me that had never happened before. Nor has it ever happened again. The voice of God came to me audibly. Not only that, but it was resounding in my chest as He spoke. “This is the same chance that your friend Louie has of entering the kingdom of God,” was what I had heard, and very clearly. Immediately I sank into deep depression. It was as though my heart had become pierced through with heavy sorrow. I suppose this lasted only a second or two. Next I was finding myself grateful that I hadn’t yet heard the complete message, for again He bellowed “but with God all things are possible.” These were the words of comfort that He had left me with. Suddenly I was joyful. Never had I gone from such acute depression to bright hope so quickly. In fact, it was more than that. For my understanding was telling me that this hope was not just a bright hope, but a sure hope. What I’m saying is that when I heard those last encouraging words I knew beyond any doubt that Louie would be among the redeemed of the earth. It was as though God was telling me that in spite of all of Louie’s evil deeds it yet was His sovereign will and good pleasure to pour upon him a bountiful mercy and save my brother’s soul.

I had first met Louie when we were only eleven years old, at St. Symphorosa’s school. He was a mischievous little guy even then. I say “little” because there couldn’t have been more than three sixth grade boys shorter than he was; I happened to be one of them. We hit it off right from the start. We just naturally took to one another, having a little more in common than just size. When we graduated two years later I was second in a long line of boys filing into the church. And who was right behind me but Louie. It was the seedtime years of a long and adventurous relationship.

When we grew older Louie had gained a reputation for street fighting. In spite of being but 5’5’’ in height he was one of the toughest kids in the neighborhood. My brother Jack once said of him that pound for pound he was the toughest flat-out. One man who had an eye for gifted athletes said he could had made it as a prizefighter. It seemed he had something against big people. He loved to pick a fight with a guy twice his size. Amazingly I never saw him lose one of those – or any fight for that matter. I’m sure he had, especially when he and my brother joined the marines in the early sixties. I don’t say all this to brag on him; not at all. For Louie had developed a mean streak that would truly unveil itself when he fought. This caused him to seriously hurt some people, and at times with more than just his fists. But after a while he had acquired a pretty wild life-style just in general. In a number of ways he lived quite dangerously. His list of enemies wasn’t getting any smaller. Some were out to really hurt him. In all this he hardly seemed moved.

Yet as strange as it may sound, Louie had a soft side. And somewhere in him a light shined. It may have been buried beneath a lot of darkness, but I’m certain it was there. I saw it once in his eyes; it was in fact all over his face. He and I were in a grocery store. A little Mexican boy was before us at the cash register. He placed all of his candy on the counter and gave the lady all the change he had. The woman told him that he hadn’t enough for the amount of candy he wanted. The boy appeared crushed by her words and didn’t know what to do. I happened to notice Louie observing him. Then with as kind a smile as I’ve ever seen, and with his eyes sparkling, he nudged the young boy and put the amount of money into his hand that he needed. It was another Louie that I saw that day. There was such a goodness about his entire demeanor. I knew then that there was more to my friend than what met the eye. It was a while afterwards that he told me that it was hard for him to listen to the “Ave Maria” being played because it would make him cry. By this I was stunned. And as time passed it seemed I saw that side of him more and more. My poor friend Louie was no doubt a tormented soul. Being split between the type of evil that for the most part controlled him, and the quality of good that I’m sure he knew was there, how could he not have been tormented? But despite his way of life he nevertheless remained my friend. In fact he was my close friend, in a sense like a brother, and together we had a lot of fun times. It was a friendship that went back to our childhood, and one that I could never betray. It was for this reason, that when I heard the voice of God speaking out against him upon awaking from my dream, that my heart nearly failed within me.

But that wasn’t the only dream. It was just the beginning. After it Louie would appear in my dreams constantly, probably at least at an average of once a week. There was never anymore significance attached. He was just there. However I knew that this was the Lord pressing him upon my heart. After some months of this I felt that I had to see him. But it had been six years since we were together last. I’d heard that he had opened up a tavern in the neighborhood, and knowing where it was I dropped in one day. I got there early, maybe around 11 a.m. I knew there would be few or possibly even no customers at that time, and this would give us a chance to talk. Upon arriving I was surprised to see Bobbie LaDuca standing behind the bar. She pretty much grew up with Louie and I. Shortly afterward I learned that she bartended there a few hours a week. It was so good to see both of them again, but especially Louie. They had heard that I “got religion” as the world tends to put it. I told them all about it; they respectfully asked questions; we talked a pretty good while. I made sure that I got in the message of salvation, which didn’t exactly result in them seeing a bright light and repenting of all their sins. But I had come there with more in mind than just telling them the gospel. I wholly believed that God wanted for me to relate to Louie the dream which He had given me some months ago. I’d come determined to not back off on the matter. It didn’t take long to tell since the dream lasted no more than a few seconds. When I was through Louie only looked at me. Then he smiled and chuckled just a bit. “Ya know Joe,” he said, “I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life. I’ve hurt a lot of people, and maybe I’m just no good. But I know one thing – that if there truly is a heaven, that I’m gonna be there. I realize that it don’t make sense. I can’t explain it. All I know is, if there’s a heaven, I know I’m gonna be there.”

Now some may see his reply as pure audacity. After all, isn’t that a whole lot to assume considering the person he’d been? And even after hearing the gospel he wasn’t at all inclined to embrace it. I however was not seeing him in that light. In fact,
I felt that he was only confirming the message that was given me, more specifically those final words: “But with God all things are possible.” As I already stated, when I’d heard those words it was as though the Lord was telling me that despite the life that Louie had lived, that regardless of the darkness of his soul and all of his wicked ways, that He yet would choose him for sonship in His kingdom. And in a more mysterious sense He had already done so before the foundation of the world. I obviously wasn’t going to tell that part of it to Louie, though I did relate to him all of the words that the Lord had spoken.

But surely my friend would not be deserving of eternal life, would he? That is o so true.
But who is? From King David to Adolph Hitler - from Paul the apostle to Al Capone - we all fall short of His greatest gift equally. But it would be a matter of pure mercy and great grace towards Louie - His choosing alone, and His pure pleasure to perform it. To the natural mind it doesn’t make sense. This was what Louie was echoing. In short he was acknowledging a great load of guilt; yet he stood firm in his belief that his abode would be in heaven one day, though not understanding why this was going to be. I spent about twelve hours with Louie in his tavern that day. Six years is a long time, and we were just enjoying one another’s company again.

Many years have passed since that meeting. I would say that it occurred somewhere between 1978 and 1980. That puts it at about thirty years ago. In the summer of 2001 Louie Pfeiffer had his last fight, losing his battle to diabetes. Quietly did he slip from this world as all eventually do. Never had I heard that Louie became a believer following that day in his tavern. In fact we bumped into one another a few times afterwards. The last time I saw him was at a carnival at St. Symphorosa school – the same grounds where we had first met. We talked only shortly. I was sure he experienced no conversion. Yet I can’t help but believe that the hand of God was upon Louie all his life. For it wasn’t a small number of people who were intent on hurting him. And if I recall correctly there were three or four brothers from a neighborhood east of us that were out to kill him. But to the best of my knowledge he had never suffered any harm by the hands of his enemies. There is a very small chance that it wouldn’t have reached my ears had that occurred. Still if all that doesn’t show the providential Hand being over him, I feel this does. Louie himself was bent on murder one night. He spoke to me of it. It was the owner or employee of some bar who had really angered him. I don’t remember the reason why. Louie drove home to get a gun. Later that night he climbed to the roof of a building across the street from where the trouble had begun. Then in a prone position he lay in wait along the edge of the roof. Filled with liquor however, he passed out before the man exited the building. The next morning he found himself and his rifle on the ground. He had rolled off the roof in his sleep. Not a bone was broken. In fact there were no real injuries to speak of. He’d only suffered a light bruise on his arm. I don’t think I asked how many stories the building was. But if it was only a single story, what would have been the chances of him incurring no harm? I believe with my whole heart that as lawless a life as Louie lived that God’s hand was upon him to keep him. “Oh the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out!” So we read it in the eleventh chapter of the book of Romans. Sometimes we need to drink in these kind of scriptures. I regret to say that we tend to go after what only goes down smooth.

I believe that around the time my friend died, the Spirit of the Lord drew near to claim the long lost sheep that had belonged to Him. Tasting of Him Louie saw that He was good. It was then that he swung his club, but not without the big hands of Jesus wrapped around his own. It was at that point that I awoke from my sleep and saw no more. This was because the remainder of the dream belonged only to Louie. Deep down it had always been his dream, though ever buried under many things. I suppose he and his Saviour watched as the small ball sailed far and high. And when Louie saw it hit down – right upon the brick – I’m sure a smile appeared upon his face, probably like the one he wore when he paid for the little boy’s candy. And when the ball rolled into the hole he fell asleep in the arms of God, all of his pain and confusion and heavy weight of guilt gone forever – a whole new creation.


J. Pecoraro

One Vision, One Voice, One Victory

In the New International Version of the bible there is a scripture that reads, “If your eyes are good, your whole body will be full of light.” In the King James Version the same scripture reads, “if, therefore, thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light.” And lastly the New American Standard Translation tells us, “if therefore your eye is clear, your whole body will be full of light.” Whether the eye be good, single, or clear, there is no contradiction. These are all in total harmony. Simply the saying means this: If your eye functions well, then you will see but a single thing, and clearly. Yes, this is what will occur when you lift your head towards heaven to observe Him on His throne.

Or let us think on the words of the renowned King David. “I will lift up my eyes to the hills – From whence comes my help? My help comes from the Lord, Who made heaven and earth.” When we lift up our eyes like King David, and our vision is clear, it will be God only that we will see – nothing more. That vision of Him will in turn fill our whole person with light - soul, body, our very spirit. And more than any other day in the history of the church must we walk with our vision raised. The times demand it.

On the other hand, what if our vision is not clear? Then it is not clear because the eye has not been trained to see only Him. It sees other things besides Him. Therefore our vision is clouded. And our vision can very easily become clouded because of three small words; just three words can totally disarm Christians from all their weaponry. It is a tool of the enemy so light in weight, and paper-thin, that he can slip it under a door that’s been closed to him. If however we should pick the deadly thing up, it will explode in our hands. These three simple words are, “But what if…?” Any number of things can come attached: “But what if the gospel isn’t really true?” Or, “The gospel is true, but what if it’s not for you?” “But what if you blasphemed the Spirit of God when you committed that sin?” The list can have no end. They are those badgering doubts that enter in that we rarely if ever speak about to others. And it is when we take these questions into our bosom and ponder them, when we give them a lodging place for a time, that our vision turns cloudy and is no longer clear. This is because our eyes have been made weak. Suddenly we find that we’ve ceased from lifting our heads to behold God in the heavens. Thus the whole body is no longer full of light, but darkness has set in.

There is more than just the “What ifs …?” There are all of the attractions of this life – those very transient clouds without water that tend to draw us away from what is eternal. The more we walk with this horizontal vision, the more difficult it becomes to lift our heads so that we can behold what real truth is. Again our vision has become clouded; our eyes have once again been made weak. And just as in the case of the “what ifs” the light of our entire person has been dimmed. So many are the enemy’s lies that cause us to wonder. So many are the worldly attractions that can lead us to imbibe. But to train the eye to focus on One Great God with whom all things are possible, is to break in pieces every weapon formed against us, and against His gospel.

It was at the end of a Sunday evening service many years ago that I went up to the altar to pray. As I knelt I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see who it was. An elderly man that I only knew as “Rich” knelt behind me. Rich was a seasoned soldier of the Lord, and very wise concerning the scriptures. To this day I really don’t remember what he prayed for me. But what I do remember is the very first words he spoke before he ever began to pray. I still think of those words from time to time. They have never left me and they never will. “Joe,” he said, “there are many voices out there.” He had hit the nail on the head. I was at the altar because I wanted God to show me if a voice that I had recently heard was speaking the truth or a lie. But he didn’t know anything about that. He only knew what was given him to say. This was a man surrendered, and available to the Spirit. Suddenly I knew that what I had heard was told to me by a lying demon. Yes, and there are many voices out there, voices that serve to tear down the walls of faith that have been built up around us by the Holy Spirit. They have been built by God, but only in accordance with how we have cooperated. In other words we are co-workers with Him. And the height and the width and the depth of those walls depend a lot on how much we have put into the project. Now one thing we must understand is this: as goes the fortress of faith that’s been erected all about us, so also goes our hope. And it must be a healthy hope that casts our vision into the heavens, so that we can see and know for certain that we shall abide with our God in His kingdom forever and ever. Nothing more needs saying, for this is the victory, and it is the victory for all times and seasons. To live in this state of thought is to live always fortified in our hearts and our minds.

There are however some things that would hinder us from keeping our hope cast far beyond the stars, as God would have us to. They are all of the “what ifs..?” It is these that are in actuality the many voices that Rich spoke of. Each one’s goal is to tear away part of the walls of faith that serve as our protection. But as I already stated, “As goes our faith, so goes our hope.” And so if we are deterred long enough by the “what ifs..?” then not only may we lose a good portion of our fortress of faith, but hope will also suffer. And it is when we lose hope that we are defeated, cast down, without strength, and oppressed. If it should grow worse we despair of life, even as it happened to the apostle Paul in Asia. He too was human. What is the answer then? All that I have written, I’ve written to come to this very point. Plain and simple, the answer is that we must come to the place where we’ve learned to believe but one thing; to behold one vision; to hear one voice; and therefore to live daily in one victory. Will it be easy? Never. But if we can believe, then it will be this One invincible Warrior that will ever stand against an innumerable army. For against Him the great number is without strength; this is because they are without truth. These are the many voices that lie against God. And our faith is the only thing that will cause them to fall away so that they stand no longer. Only the Maker of the heavens and the earth must always remain. He is the Beginning. He is the End. Still beyond these He is Eternal. And it is the Lord, the One Great God, who is our final victory.

Will sorrows come? Will sufferings abound? Two thousand years ago we were informed that in this present life they would be our portion. Here we are crucified with Christ as the scripture tells us. We join with Him in His sufferings for a while. But it is always important for us to remember that this age is a passing one. It was never intended by God to remain. But the age to come is forever and for all times. And though now we are crucified with Christ, we are told that we nevertheless live. It is then for the man within us who lives, to keep his head lifted, to behold his God upon the throne, to do so until all that assails us passes away. Then there will truly be one vision to set our gaze upon; one voice for us to hear; one victory to always stand in. Then will the eye be single; then will the eye be clear; then through unending ages will the whole body be full of light.

J. Pecoraro

Heaven’s Wars

Smoke is all about us.
The guns of war, they never cease.
Arrows fly and trumpets sound.
The casualties increase.

At his right his brother falls.
At his left fall seven.
But angels come and bear them up.
Abodes await in heaven.

Onward Christian soldier!
Though all your comrades fell,
Raise your flag and charge your steed
Into the heart of hell.

O how the fearsome battles rage
Throughout that world on high.
But never fear, you of the Light,
For God is always nigh.

And someday all the smoke will clear.
No trumpets will be heard;
Except the King’s, which will precede
The singing of a bird.



“For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.”

J. Pecoraro

Rich Blood Spent

Once while I was tuned into a Christian radio station I listened as a minister of the gospel read off a number of prayer requests. Then he announced that he was going to present the requests to the Lord, asking his radio audience to join in with him. To be straight and to the point I was very surprised in the way that the man prayed over these needs. For all intents and purposes all that he did was to read them off again, and in the same rather lifeless tone of voice. But someone may wonder where the problem lies in this. My answer would be that according to his manner I highly doubt that he bled as much as a drop. But I do not judge him. Possibly his way is just a peculiar one and his heart was in fact in the right place. Whether that was the case or not is irrelevant. The point is this. There are swarms of believers who speak to God on behalf of others every day while carrying not even a splinter of their burden or having not an ounce of compassion. They pray as if under law and not under grace. A scenario may go something like this: Someone has asked if we’d pray for their need in our time with the Lord. We agree to, but is it more because we’ll feel a sense of guilt if we don’t intercede? And so we pray to escape the weight of guilt. Our objective is not so much for God to intervene – comfort, set at liberty, heal, etc., as it is to meet the obligation, ease our conscience, and rid ourselves of the thing lest it become a haunt. And in this we pray under law and not grace. Such prayers are like clouds without rain, mere formalities; they are vain exercises; they are doing the rule for the sake of the rule. Does God hear such prayers? If He looks upon the heart as we know that He does, then how can He hear them, for the heart is the very thing that is absent when we pray in this manner. But when we pray under grace and not law it is altogether different.

All those who have resigned themselves from law, from the works of the flesh, and have taken upon themselves the grace of God, who have captured it forcefully with both hands and have robed themselves in it, not with merit but with the free gift, the same are those who pray according to Spirit and Truth. There is also this wonderful feature about them. Their eyes have been opened and they have come to love those made “in the image.” They look upon people, especially those in need, at times even in rags, and in them they see the Saviour. Since they have learned to love Him, they now can love “the image.” Some may even behold shades of glory about the image that once they could not detect. And so they beseech the Holy One for them with the fervency of the inner man, with passion and delight, though also with a burden.

Does it all sound too emotional? Can we read of such intercession in the scriptures? I believe so. There is an incident in the book of Genesis when Jacob wrestles with God by way of an angel. I’m sure it is uncontested among all theologians that this is a picture of prayer. And one cannot read of this happening without realizing that every fiber of Jacob’s being was intensely at work in the encounter of his life. Next it is all but impossible to not imagine David as very emotional in his many petitions to the God whose heart he was in constant pursuit of. And I’m sure that the same mood can be detected in some New Testament prayers. Emotions will come when we bleed the crimson flow. And bleed we will when we’ve come to love “the image” as we lift it up to God. But is there any labor at all involved in our requests when we so matter-of-factly present them to the Lord? Shouldn’t prayer cost us? If not, why is it that we speak of its sacrifice? If virtuous energy doesn’t go out from us then what have we spent when we speak with Him before His throne? There He watches the output of our hearts. He takes note of the strength of its flow. Yet the spending is never in vain, and what is lost He replenishes even as the blood of the flesh. He replenishes so that we can spend and spend and spend without ceasing. Such is the practice of the one who makes war against the armies of hell and of evil.

Once in speaking with a friend he shared with me a secret about himself. He told me that he had come to the point that when he prayed for others he would in turn feel the weight of their trial. If their problem was depression, he felt that depression. If their problem was loneliness, he felt their loneliness. And so on it went. While in prayer for his brothers and sisters he felt the weight of their doubts, their fears, their confusion, worries, temptations, and we know that the list is endless. The weight that he felt was the weight of the burdens they bore. Not that it need be this way for us, but that’s how it was for him. By his sacrifice of prayer he was drawing near and taking some of their load upon himself. He was easing their pains and relieving their spirits until the day that they put their burdens down. And I’m sure that the putting down of those burdens along with the hand of God’s deliverance was the very thing that he sought his Lord for. This man knew about prayer. Sad indeed it would have been if none were helping him along his rugged path. But I do not mean by way of a quick and painless intercession, through a vain exercise or mere formality. He deserved nothing short of the spent blood of the inner man, and even as he let it flow for others.

Our heavenly Father calls us to do for one another what Christ did for the world. The cross that Jesus bore He bore for the people of the earth, for it was to us that the cross belonged, and not to Him. And His intercession to God for us while being crucified was anything but a vain exercise, costing nothing. It had cost Him untold suffering and the shedding of blood, rich to overflowing. Calvary was His interceding to the Father for a world filled with sin, and this by the sacrifice of His life. Likewise our intercession for one another must be of the same sacrifice; the bearing of each others burdens, the losing of our lives, and the flowing crimson streams; not the blood of the flesh, but that of the invincible spirit man.

As I was driving along one day, and thinking on this subject matter, the Lord gave to me a proverb: “For those who sow in blood and tears, the blossoms come up singing.”


J. Pecoraro

The Wild Stallion

A wild stallion once was I,
Running the grasslands, spirits high.
And though my life was filled with ease,
A greater one I could not please.

This greater one, a son of man,
Desired to put me on his land.
To break my will, and to break my heart,
And require of me my every part.

So why did I take to such a notion
Of boundless loyalty and devotion?
Had I become witless, or did I merely need change,
For life had grown wearisome on that range?

One brisk autumn morning a rider drew near,
But somehow I knew there was nothing to fear.
Unlike other times when I’d just run away,
I willfully laid down my freedom that day.

There were hard times ahead and stubborn was I
For the ways of the free do not easily die.
But my master was gentle and loving and kind
And when the task was complete there was newness of mind.

I no longer run for my own foolish pleasure.
I’ll reveal you a secret, an invaluable treasure.
A horse of the wild may run freer and faster,
But the horse that’s fulfilled is the horse with a master.



J. Pecoraro

The Fountain

Back in the late seventies I drove for a company located just west of Chicago’s downtown area. It was probably for a good year or two that my quitting time was somewhere between eight and nine p.m. There was one summer during those days that was as hot a summer as any I could remember. Most nights, instead of going straight home from work, I’d take a ride to the lake. There I’d usually do one of three things. Sometimes I’d just take a stroll through Grant Park. At other times, being as hot as it was, I’d simply jump in the lake and go for a swim. Yes, it was illegal to be in the water after dark, and that also meant no lifeguard. But I wasn’t always in the habit of exercising a lot of sense back then, and being a rather new Christian I still had much to learn. There was a third thing however that I use to love to do. That was to just go and hang around Buckingham Fountain for a while. Of all the attractions Chicagoland has to offer, it has always been my favorite, even from the time I was a young boy. I think that fountains in general can render a sense of peace, and even joy. But none brighten my spirit like Buckingham.

One night as I stood before the fountain something happened that I’ll never forget. If my years surpass those of Methuselah’s, even then I’d remember the night of which I’m about to tell. It began like many nights there. I was having an enjoyable time. I watched while children ran and played; listened to sounds of delight from those nearby as the fountain’s color schemes changed; then there was always the gentle lake breeze to cool and refresh. Everything was pretty much the norm, except for what would occur in just a few short minutes. It all began with the loss of water pressure which would commence each night somewhere around ten o’clock. It would take some time for the flow to come to a complete stop. Still, in the meanwhile, the crowd would begin dispersing while at some point in the shutdown the fountain’s lights would go off. But on this particular evening I suddenly had a peculiar notion. Of all the times I had been to the fountain, I thought, never was I the very last one to leave. I was determined to stand there before it until there wasn’t a single solitary soul left but me. It probably took a good fifteen to twenty minutes before that happened, though for a short time I could still hear their voices, the last of the stragglers making their way out of the park. Their sounds grew more and more faint until finally I stood before the fountain in a silence and a darkness that were unlike any I had known. It was a silence and a darkness that seemed to want to speak. As I continued gazing upon the rather sizeable structure it began to take on a very sad appearance to me. Then it was but moments and I actually began feeling like I was no longer beholding the fountain, but the fountain was beholding me. I was now starting to think that this was more than what I’d bargained for when I decided to be the last to leave. Then it happened. I heard no voice, yet it was as though the fountain spoke. It was as if it had said to me, “Where are they now? Where did they all go? When my waters flowed, how they all gathered around me. When my colors were shown to them, how they were amazed, and wanted always to remain with me. And how much I loved them. And how I loved for the children to run and play before me. But now that my waters have ceased they have all gone their own way. And now that they have witnessed my shining colors turn to darkness, amazement has left them, and they have all returned to their former states. And what about you? Will you go also?”

Immediately following this, I am to this day certain that the Spirit spoke. And what He said to me was that I had just witnessed the three year ministry of our Saviour upon the earth. He began bringing to mind how the ministry of our Lord started out with a bang - an eye-opening miracle in a town called Cana. From there it was one powerful phenomenon after the other. Soon, and great works of wonder couldn’t be counted. It was a display of heaven’s love and mercy like the world had never seen, nor has seen since. The Fountain’s springs gushed forth with a fury, and by His Father was He cloaked with all the colors of the rainbow. Surely healing was in His hands, and deliverance upon His lips.

Now there came a day quite unexpected by the people. Suddenly it seemed that waters that were once vivacious were beginning to lose their strength, while the light of the Fountain was also starting to dim. Then it wasn’t long before His healing springs flowed no more and darkness had settled in upon Him. The night had come, even as the Fountain said it would. And little by little all the people began departing from His presence. The Fountain was alone. Never was a man so alone as He was on that day. But in truth this had always been His lot, for there were none that really understood Him. However now there came to Him a forlornness that was unlike anything He had ever experienced, a heaviness of soul such as He had never felt. And what was the cause of it? It was because the time had arrived for even His Father to abandon Him. Going back to before the dawn of the worlds, He had not known the absence of the Father. But more than this it had now behooved His God to lay upon Him the rod of His chastening. This was for the great load of men’s rebellions that was put upon Him, in which He Himself took no part. Yet for this He was grievously stricken, battered and bruised, until a great debt was fully paid. And in the midst of deep sorrow, and forsaken by all, judgment was carried out until His spirit was released.

It was not the nails nor the spear, not the thorns nor the lashes. It wasn’t the beatings with fists. It wasn’t the slow and suffocating death. Neither was it the shame and humiliation which no doubt took a terrible toll on Him that day. As much as all these things made for unspeakable sufferings, they were not the cause of His deepest pain and anguish. His greatest travail stemmed from something more spiritual in nature, something far beyond what the Roman soldiers could ever inflict upon Him. It was the fact that He was cut off from His God, turned out by the Father. He who is Light and lights up all creation shined not on the Son, but gave Him over to darkness, while all heaven and earth fled from His presence. It was in this state of utter abandonment that He hung upon the tree. Still, He believed that in the end His spirit would ascend to the highest heaven, and this in fullness of glory.

Our Lord and friend, despite all that He suffered, never ceased being God incarnate. Sin then, though it was able to be set upon Him, could never be found within Him. It was therefore not possible for any grave to hold this Champion of Adam’s seed. And so three days after His expiration, He simply took up His life again. The Fountain was flowing once more. His followers saw it and were beside themselves with gladness –joy springing from hearts that as of late had grown dark. The Fountain had come back to them, and overflowing with Life. But He did not come to stay; it was only until He could inform, encourage, and speak to His people of the things that He saw His Father doing. Then one day, and before their very eyes, He lifted up His hands to bless them, and while doing so began ascending from the earth. He was seen no more.

Today is a New Day. Today the Fountain flows from the right hand of the living God. From there His waters surge forth in far greater ways than when He walked the earth. For now they move through you and through I, even through a countless number who have been born from above. From us they go out to a lost and dry and weary world, carving out their paths as they are directed from on high. Still there is a question that all who are of faith must ask themselves. Have we ceased abandoning Him? Are we so unlike the people who followed the Saviour two thousand years ago? If the lights seem to dim some, and the flow of the waters seem to lose their strength for a season, do we begin to wander from the Fountain? If the trial grows darker, and it’s hard to see a light, even at the tunnel’s end, do we stray further still? And what if we begin to notice that mere trickles are all that’s coming from the Fountain? What then? Is it time to just vacate His presence altogether? Well, that may be the natural thing to do at a fountain in a park, as I once saw happen, but it shouldn’t be so where it concerns the only true and living Fountain. Yet often times this is the choice we make. But why have the waters stopped in the first place? Is it because a time for testing has come? Or perhaps we played with sin until the cup overflowed. Or maybe it is for no other reason but that we’ve entered a dry season in the Spirit realm. No matter the cause, to remain on the straight path is imperative at this point, lest our difficulty grows more dire still, according to “Hebrews 12:12-13.” And so if we should begin cutting short our communion times with Him, or putting away our bibles when it pleases us, or if we cease gathering together with other believers, then these decisions will eventually prove tragic. For when the darkness comes, and those living waters stop, this is not the time to abandon the Fountain. It is in fact during such times that Jesus looks for some fellowship with us, not in power, nor in joy, nor in gladness of heart; but in weakness, and in tears, and in brokenness of spirit. To put it another way, it is during these dark days that He longs to fellowship with us upon a cross.

When Christians hear the word “fellowship”, we normally connect it to social activities, or maybe just getting together to shoot the breeze a while, but always we imagine a good time. And nothing is wrong with that. But this is not the only fellowship that our Saviour beckons us to. Sometimes He bids us to what the scripture calls “the fellowship of His sufferings.” This is when a believer comes to know the crucified Christ in all His distress, while in turn Christ eases the pain and affliction of the one who has joined himself to Him. In this a bond forms between the two that is as strong – if not stronger – than anything that would have united them through joyful circumstances. Think of it. It is a people who have suffered oppression at the hands of others that are most likely to band together. Normally they become supportive of each other and grow to be close-knit. But this is not so true among groups whose troubles have hardly been worth mentioning. And so to know Him in His sufferings, while He also shares in ours, is to bond with Him in a very special way. It is a mistake to abandon the Fountain when the waters stop and the lights go out. It is then that He presents to us the greater treasures. And it doesn’t matter if we don’t see or feel them right then and there. Such are the desires of the anxious and the unbelieving – of those whose walk is for the most part in the natural. But our Father in heaven longs to behold in us things of a higher nature, these being faith, trust, and a journey in spirit and in truth.

Jesus’ followers, prior to His crucifixion, lived their lives in the natural. And so they assumed that nothing of any real value could come from Him anymore since He suddenly appeared ineffective. But o how they were wrong. They missed it. The reason I know this is because on a steamy summer’s night in Chicago’s Grant Park, while I stood before a fountain engulfed in darkness, o how the Lord did speak. I heard in the darkness what He reserves only for those who hold no contempt for it, and have learned to not fear it. But those who despise it care just for the things that the Fountain does in the light. I claim no super spirituality if that’s what it seems. For He was only unfolding to me a spiritual truth by way of an analogy. But it is the real that I must fully come to grips with on my way to becoming complete in Him. After all, most grown men can stand in a literal darkness before a dead fountain. But can I abide in a greater darkness before a Fountain who for all intents and purposes seems to be dead, but in fact is very much alive? Can I learn to trust Him there, not fearing my surroundings? Moreover, can I even enjoy a transcendent fellowship with Him, though I cannot clearly behold Him? It is the one who can achieve these things that is complete in Christ.

Hear the words once penned by the apostle Paul in his letter to the Philippians: “…that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death, if, by any means, I may attain to the resurrection from the dead.” It is more than just knowing Him in His power and in His light. He calls us also to know Him in weakness, even in the darkness of great pain and anguish. He bids us to feel the weight of a cross, the agony of a crucifixion. Then in all this He desires to form with us a perfect union where He has been stretched out between heaven and earth – a fellowship that cannot be broken. And this becomes a power indeed – a power of another kind. It is no doubt why our brother Paul also wrote, “Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

But all these things will run their course and then the morning will come. The psalmist’s words will be fulfilled: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” And on that morning the Fountain’s waters will flow with a purity and strength not known to the first creation; each cup, as it is lifted up, will overflow with the life of God. Also the Fountain’s lights will shine with an indefinable brilliance, leaving those who behold Him enraptured. Once He was abandoned, alone like no man was ever alone; but now His praises shall be greater than any man’s praises ever were, or will be again. The children will run and will play and will have great joy in His presence once more. And all the people will never cease expressing their unspeakable delights. But now He will continue in this way for ages unending. For no more will the Light of the Fountain be extinguished. Neither will the people walk away from Him in the night hours again. For the night has passed and a New Day has dawned, a Day eternal – lavishly poured out upon us by the Fountain.


J. Pecoraro

The Place Above All Others

“Jesus, when He had cried out again with a loud voice, yielded up His spirit. And behold, the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom; and the earth quaked, and the rocks were split, and the graves were opened; and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised; and coming out of the graves after His resurrection, they went into the holy city and appeared to many.”

Exciting that the earth quaked at the very time that Jesus expired upon His cross; exciting that the graves were opened and the dead were raised; and so exciting that those who were raised went into the holy city, actually appearing to the living, who knew for certain that those upon whom they looked had once died and were buried.

Personally speaking, as moving as the raising of the dead had to be, and as spectacular as the earthquake also must have been, neither of these is what thrills me most. Yet what sends a real jolt into me is the very first thing that Matthew records: “And behold, the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom.” Why that, you may ask? It is because of the fact that this precise moment marked the end of a religion by which just one man would appear before God on behalf of an entire nation, and this but annually; still at the same time it signified the beginning of something far greater. In fact, just a simple “far” could never really capture the distance that God would catapult a people of faith upward. This is because the distance is immeasurable; the place to where He’d bring them - into an entirely new dimension, to the kingdom of the Son of His love. He would take us from the practice of a religion “by which nothing could ever be made perfect,” as pens the writer of Hebrews, and translate us into an inexpressible kingdom of light, where we may come to know and love the Saviour in Spirit and in Truth. It is there that perfection would be all about the God who we walk with, and the kingdom whose citizens we’ve become. To we the people that same perfection is imputed, though in us it has not yet been made wholly manifest.

There once was a time when the people of God lived o so distant from what we can enjoy today. The ordinances of the Most High were stated very clear and to the point. Once each year would His high priest go beyond the veil, and never without blood. He would enter a very feared and sacred sanctuary past the holy place. There in the holy of holies, he would for himself and for every descendent of Abraham, offer up the blood of a slain animal to the Almighty One of Israel. This would cover all the transgressions of an entire nation for the year past. And year after year this ceremonial act needed to be repeated, along with numerous others. Over a span of many centuries did Israel serve Jehovah God in such a manner. The endless repetitions were only saying that all of these activities could never be enough. And why? It was because they were not the real thing. They fell short. They were imperfect. In fact, they would serve only as types and shadows of the Real. They were adequate simply to the point of shielding the sins of the people from their Creator, and that just from one year to the next. But in the fullness of time God sent forth His Son. He, the Substance, and not the shadows, was what all of the former rituals pointed ahead to for well over a millennium. His was the true blood of the covenant. It was this blood and no other that the Father waited to receive in the holy of holies that is not of this world. And on the day that He saw its crimson flow cover the earth from where man was once taken, two great hands descended to part the veil with a terrible rending. Yes, amidst the earth quaking and the graves opening up, the Father had along with these split the veil, making clear the way to the holy of holies for every soul born of faith. No longer would it be that a single priest enter in one time yearly (at least this was not recognized any longer in heaven). But now we have heard from John the revelator that our God has made of all His children an entire nation of priests, and not only priests, but kings, a change of infinite proportions from how it had formerly been.

The ways of the Almighty transcend the imaginations of men, looming large even in the heavens. For when He had rent the veil it was no small statement He was making, since along with this occurrence go marvelous blessings: Now, instead of only the high priest of Israel accessing the most holy place but one time each year, every son and daughter of God can enter as often as he or she desires. To add, there would be no ritualistic duties to be carried out, and this in great fear of an error being made. But our communion with Him there, would be strictly from the heart, His words to us being fear not. Also we wouldn’t have to leave this sacred place at an appointed time, as is the nature of ritual. On the contrary we can remain with the Triune God as long as we have a mind and a heart to remain. And certainly there would have to be more than one holy of holies, as was so in the old world. Then there was but a single high priest to perform his duties there, and so there would be no need to have more than one sanctuary set apart for the occasion. But in the day in which we live our Heavenly Father has begotten a countless number of sons and daughters, all His ministers. Each He calls to intimacy with Him. But how can there be intimacy unless He has designed for every one their own sacred room in which to meet with Him, a secret place, a personal dwelling for every believer to speak with the God of heaven and earth? Consequently these rooms are now beyond number, as I’ve already stated that His changes are of infinite proportions, not only in this, but in all of His works from the Old to the New.

Now a question may arise. Where exactly can all of these holy sanctuaries be found? Where is it that the children can meet with the One whose very name is Holy? One may say that his study is where he meets with God; another may tell of how she loves to go to the garden of a nearby park and pray; still another may like the nicely furnished room in the attic, constructed just for this purpose. It is okay to recognize a certain location as our own personal meeting place with the Lord. I however believe that all such places serve more as symbols and representations of the real sanctuary where we enter God’s presence. For I am convinced that the true sanctuary is the same place for all of us, yet each person’s is different. It is the heart - the very center of our being; the unseen man. From there we communicate with the Lord. And so we may speak with Him wherever we go. We do not need to be in this location or that, for He has done a marvelous thing. He has built these inner tabernacles into His people. Even as He had instructed Moses in how to build the tabernacle in the wilderness, so has He designed man after the pattern of that same tabernacle, we however being the real and the true living temples. The Old Testament tabernacle was only the shadow of the real, which was yet to come. The real would be of materials alive and not dead, fashioned by God and not man. The real - it is we the church, the heirs of the kingdom.

In the tabernacle in the wilderness there was the holy place, and still further in there was the holy of holies. So it is today with His people. We are told that our bodies have become temples of the living God, and holy they must be kept. Still, as true as this is, the eyes of the Lord are more upon that inner chamber, that quiet place beyond the veil of the flesh. That place is the heart. For as our knowing of Him is there - in the sanctuary hidden away - so will it eventually become with the whole man. Therefore His eyes are on the heart, where intimacy must ever grow with the Father and the Son. For this reason we have become acquainted with words such as these: “For man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” “But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts… ” “Let the peace of God rule in your hearts…” And Jesus Himself said, “The kingdom of God is within you.” The sanctuary of the heart is where we abide with the God of the highest heavens. It is why so many passages in scripture admonish us to keep the heart clean. And so God has undoubtedly created man as a temple in which He could abide. Holy - the body - and most holy - the heart - are His tabernacles in every believing son and daughter.

Jesus, the eternal Son, also needed to become a living temple unto His Father upon entering our world. But before He could enjoy eternal life, love, and peace in that temple, it was first necessary for it to undergo utter destruction. Therefore He spoke these words to the One who He ever sees: “Sacrifice and offering you did not desire, but a body You have prepared for Me. In burnt offerings and sacrifices for sin You had no pleasure. Then I said, ‘Behold, I have come - in the volume of the book it is written of Me - to do Your will, O God.’”

It is the writer of Hebrews, however, who as I see it, draws the clearest parallel between the human body and the outer and inner tabernacles of the Old Testament. Moreover he skillfully achieves this in two short verses: “Therefore, brethren, having boldness to enter the Holiest by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way which He consecrated for us, through the veil, that is, His flesh…” The only conclusion to be drawn here is that through the veil, which is our flesh, lies the true inner tabernacle of the believer; it is greater than any sanctuary; it is our own secret place where we come to meet with, and ever know the Father and the Son. Not only this, but it is a quite special knowing that takes place here, for it happens through the Spirit, and not by the flesh. He has opened up a way for us to come to Him. And from there our God reigns; and it has become a living place, alive by and through His Spirit.

When a man and his wife join hands together to pray, I’m sure this is precious in the sight of the Lord. And no doubt He desires this in every marriage. Nevertheless, this kind of communion doesn’t rise up from out of one’s secret place. When we come together with a brother or a sister to agree upon something before the Father, once again He looks upon it with great delight. But neither do these words ascend into heaven from that intimate sanctuary. If we should be one of a dozen or so people, who have come to unite in one Spirit, to bring before the Lord many needs, no doubt the Almighty is again well pleased. But as in the other cases such prayer does not occur within that personal and sacred tabernacle. For whenever the high priest met with the God of Israel in the holy of holies, never could a second man enter along with him. Surely it would have been unthinkable. And from the Old to the New this has not changed. Therefore it is only when we meet with Him alone, and only then, that we enter what has been set apart just for us. There we will at times speak to Him concerning things of a private nature, things we may have never spoken much about to anyone - not a spouse, child, or best friend. Here seclusion and nearness to Him create an atmosphere that totally envelops the Father and His child, making it to be a meeting unlike any other.

Speaking for myself, I believe that it is in this inviolable chamber that we become born unto Him. I believe this is so due to the very personal nature of the moment. Who does it really belong to but the one being birthed, and He who has now become Abba Father? Who else has any real part in the earnest petition that makes us His? The answer is none but the one who has presently bowed before Him. It is here that our life with Him begins - life eternal as a child and heir of a kingdom that will never pass away. In that room it begins, and it should always be that place that we hold more dear and more sacred than anywhere else. It is ours forever, to be with Him alone.

When we are abiding in the holy of holies it is altogether different than being in any other place. There we belong just to Him and never to another. We are not our wife’s or our husband’s, not our son’s or our daughter’s, not a friend’s or a relative’s, when we are shut in alone with He who has fashioned us according to His knowledge and desire. There we are His solely, for Him to know and to love. He likewise belongs only to us, and for the same purpose. That time can become transcendent. In such a case it may be necessary to remove far from our hearts and minds all that is of this earth, whether it be people, places, things, or anything that may diminish the strength of perfect union between the Potter and His vessel. There may arise an instance when we will feel moved to not just spiritually but physically escape to an environment alienated from things worldly in nature. Doing so will always prove conducive in preparing the heart for a meeting with the Triune God.

Once in watching an old movie I became a bit swept away by one of its scenes. A young couple had just gotten married and they hurried away to a solitary place. They seemed to be in the midst of a magically serene woodland. As the woman overlooked it from a high point she spoke poetically of its charm, its loveliness and its beauty, and of a stillness that defied description. Then as if in a trance she said these words: “It’s like the end of the world here.” It was sometime later that I thought about that scene; now a question arose. If such a place, being of this earth, could offer all the wonder of which the young lady spoke, then how much more should our quiet place with God, since it is above this world? Once we truly become established there, and have learned to settle in, how much more peace and comfort, joy and bliss, should our secret place with Him afford, since it is beyond the earthly plane? Is it not the place above all others? While in my thoughts of this I began to put these words to a poem.



Fly To The End Of The World

When the terrors and troubles and trials of life
Swiftly at me are hurled,
Then will my spirit sprout wings like a dove
And fly to the end of the world.

At the end of the world is a wilderness
Where all is beautifully still,
And nothing is heard but silence
So that I may learn His will.

There is no place like the end of the world
For the Spirit meets you there,
And you and He in a fellowship sweet
Know never a load of care.

Upon His holy bosom
At ease He sets your soul,
As He sings a song of glory
That makes all within you whole.

And when I leave that sacred place
I am given a fresh new start,
Hope in a new beginning,
A willing and steadfast heart.

Then into the battle once more I ride
Wielding a powerful sword,
To fight for what’s right and for glory,
To fight with the risen Lord.



J. Pecoraro