Breakthrough for Whom?

  

 

There is much talk

About breakthrough these days

Promised to Christian believers

In myriad ways.

 

Promised from pulpits

From stadia to church

And the people in eager anticipation

Are left in the lurch.

 

Often required to pay

Or rather, sow a seed,

And this seed must be sacrificial

Aka out of their need.

 

The gullible are trapped

Mostly ladies, I dare to say,

And almost all of them still wait

For that coming day.

 

Meanwhile, no change

Everything is as before

And they continue to lose faith

More and more.

 

 

Breakthrough is mouthed

By faith leadership

Who rather than preach the Word

Shoot from the hip.

 

Five break-through

Are recorded in the Word

But to the two in the New Testament

I now refer.

 

Both are in Matthew

In consecutive verses

And from what I have gathered

They are really curses.

 

Beware of treasures

That thieves can steal

Rather, store up treasures in heaven

In the Word revealed.

 

Thieves break through

Moth and rust corrupt

And sooner rather than later

Thieves run out of luck.

 

 

 

Let the light of the Word

Breakthrough in your heart,

This breakthrough none can give

Not even in part.

 

It cost Jesus’ blood

And his death on the cross

And it matters not your millions,

Without it you are lost.

 

Breakthrough is dependent

On the grace of God,

It’s not in money or worldly gain

No, not at all.

 

Breakthrough for whom?

For the one in the pulpit

Making merchandise of the sheep

And getting rich.

 

 

 

Sounds like a wolf

Dressed up like a sheep,

Be careful my brothers and sisters

If you hear him bleat.

 

If he tickles your ears

And make you feel sweet

Next, he will take all you have

And have you for meat.

 

There is one shepherd

That was never a sheep

Yet though a sinless lamb crucified

He now speaks.

 

 

 

Come unto me, he says,

Meaning the burdened

And the breakthrough you’ll get

Is his pardon.

 

The message is the same

To the pew and the pulpit,

Breakthrough is eternal salvation,

Not getting rich.

 

Stewart Russell © February 4, 2026  

 

Nobody Told Death

  

 

Nobody told death

That she had had three children

And that for years ongoing

The father was missing.

 

Nobody told death

They were all very young

And that for not one of them

Was the father around.

 

Who’ll look after them

Was never death’s concern

Because death just does not care,

I have long learned.

 

 

 

Nobody told death

That he was a young doctor

And that he had just graduated

Top in the order.

 

Nobody told death

Of the great investment

That was made in him by others

And the Government.

 

What a waste that was

Some would want to say

But death does not care about such;

Absolutely no way.

 

 

Nobody told death

He’d just had a promotion,

Death simply delights in playing

With one’s emotion.

 

This one must have hurt

Many a concerned heart

Since this recently made magistrate

Was now at the start.

 

But nobody told death

About any of this

And by family and legal fraternity,

He will be sorely missed.

 

Nobody told death

The bullet had gone astray

And it was not for the innocent

On that horrid day.

 

Only a youngster

And still in his teens,

Life blood running in the street,

What a numbing scene!

 

 

 

But death didn’t care

For his allotted time was up

And the means did not matter;

He was out of luck.

 

We come in one way

But we go out many ways

And death is an appointment,

The Bible says.

 

Nobody told death

It was her only child,

A longed-for child in her later years

The odds she defied.

 

Then death took her

At just age number three,

The grim reaper had struck again;

Oh what misery!

 

Nobody told death

Since it made no sense,

Death marches on to its victories

Full of offense.

 

 

If you are reading this

Right about now

Be aware that one day to death

You too will bow.

 

Stewart Russell © January 22, 2026

 

September Already?

  

 

Can you imagine

It is September already?

Time is flying at record speed-

At least, so it seems to me.

 

Each and every dawn

Truncates the night before

And even though I am retired,

I long to sleep some more.

 

‘Tis the shortest holiday

This current vacation

Given the rapid passage of time

And school resumption.

 

September Remember

Hurricane Janet of fifty-five,

We’re still in the hurricane season,

One can still arrive.

 

So far, so good,

Three months have passed

And I pray for the three to come,

Such fortune will last.

 

 

Time is really flying

Though not for everyone,

Surely not for the challenged individual

Facing a difficult storm.

 

Of inner conflict

Bringing constant turmoil,

Time is stretching out unbearably

As that one toils.

 

Healing appears distant

As the night drags on

And the darkness is not dispelled,

Not even at dawn.

 

September has dawned

But it is lost on some,

Very unlike those enjoying life

And having fun.

 

“How time flies

When we are having fun!”

But it is certainly not for those

That are having none.

 

 

 

September already

But of delight and dread,

It’s delight for some but for others…

It’s sadness instead.

 

In whatever circumstance

Let us give God praise,

For having life there is still hope-

So, let’s not be fazed.

 

‘Tis September already

And we are still here,

Let’s give thanks to God Almighty

Who ultimately cares.

 

Stewart Russell © September 1, 2026

 

But Ye Are Come

 

 

But ye are come…

Four words that mean the world,

Straight from the Word of the Lord:

Such a blessed and precious pearl.

 

Let’s start with the contrast…

Something went before,

That something was horridly frightening!

Thank Jesus, it is so no more.

 

So frightening it was…

Even Moses did quake with fear,

But a better covenant came on stream:

God’s Word makes this clear.

 

 

“But ye are come to Mount Sion

To the city of the living God!”

You would not find this on a map

Even if you search abroad.

 

It is the heavenly Jerusalem

That the Apostle saw coming down,

Recorded in the book of Revelation;

It is time we come around.

 

Our focus is on the earth,

On the old Jerusalem

But re the writer to the Hebrews,

He is pointing us to heaven.

 

John 21:2

 

“And I,” said John, “Saw the holy city,

Coming down from God out of heaven,

Prepared as a bride

Adorned for her husband.”

 

This is the heavenly Jerusalem;

The tabernacle of God is with men,

They are God’s people

And God is dwelling with them.

 

 

What was future to the Apostle

Is now present and continuing,

Jesus is the mediator of the new covenant

And to the blood of sprinkling.

 

Its coverage runs from Abel

Even to the present born-again:

The assembly and church of the first born

Over which the Lord Jesus reigns.

 

Not the first born

As in Jesus was the first to be created,

But the first born from the dead

And over the church he initiated.

 

An inaugural address to the saints

Whose names are written in heaven,

The spirits of just men made perfect

Whose sins have been forgiven.

 

 

To them as well as to us

To be reflected on whenever we meet

As the church of the Lord Jesus Christ

Within buildings or on the street.

 

We have erred in our numbers,

The count has never been right,

We only count those that are in-house

And never those out of sight.

 

The attendance we cannot enumerate

For it includes both present and past,

And it stretches up to Christ’s return

When all are gathered in at last.

 

In attendance too are the angels

Comprising an innumerable company,

This is not reserved for a future time

But is happening currently.

 

 

Yes, we are come to Mount Sion

Every time we meet for church,

The attendance we cannot enumerate

Even given our numerous experts.

 

If to you this sounds farfetched

Then read the text again,

Though the church is present on earth

It’s within a heavenly frame.

 

The angels we do not see,

Their voices we cannot hear

But do not refuse the Lord that speaks

For he is definitely here.

 

He speaks better things than of Abel

For Abel was of the earth,

Jesus mediates the new covenant

Though he was of earthly birth.

 

That was in his incarnation

For he has neither beginning nor end,

No apologies to any who believe differently

Though it’s not my intent to offend.

 

But we are come to Mount Sion

Each and every time we meet,

Goodbye to the old Jerusalem covenant!

It’s the heavenly Jerusalem we greet!

 

However, let’s not take it lightly

Whene’er we meet together

For in the company with which we meet

Are the Spirit, Son and Father.

 

 

We worship in the beauty of holiness

For God requires such,

Jesus paid our redemption price

And no other could do as much.

 

Stewart Russell © May 21, 2023

 

Masters of Pretense

  

 

Masters of pretense

Meaning MPs for short,

Oft times after they are elected

Sense they abort.

 

Masters of pretense

With promises galore,

A minute few are notably fulfilled

But they promise more.

 

Fooling you and me

Their proverbial clowns

Who elect them time and again

Every election round.

 

Masters of pretense

Very convincing they are,

Somewhat like those circuses

That come from afar.

 

Talking ‘bout circuses

One just came to shore

But MPs captured more attention,

That is for sure.

 

 

 

Permission was sought

And permission granted

But allegedly one Government agency

Apparently relented.

 

Having pitched their tents

They had to close

To be subsequently located elsewhere

To continue the shows.

 

Some MPs had their say,

So too did the PM

But it was very clear to this writer

Who were the problem.

 

Two circuses competed

Of MPs and of clowns,

And our Masters of pretense

Caused the turnaround.

 

One comes occasionally

The other all year round,

Pitching their tents in Parliament,

There are the clowns.

 

 

 

Saddled with them

For the next four years,

With their packages of promises

They will fill our ears.

 

At least the PM

In her gracious sagacity

Did admit, as I am fully aware,

Some culpability.

 

But there was a ‘But’,

More like a deflection

That suggested, don’t blame them

For this infraction.

 

Brown Water Alert

Had picked up before

Thus, the circus should have heeded,

Need you hear more?

 

Masters of pretense

Meaning MPs for short,

Oft times after they are elected

Sense they abort.

 

 

 

 Commonsense, I mean:

The irregular type

For with the number of PhDs today

We’re still in a plight.

 

Paper performance

Governmental delinquency!

Three thirty-love election victories

But still in its infancy.

 

Regaling one and all

With stunning circus acts,

These Masters of pretense, aka MPs

Are surely off track.

 

Two added recently:

BimPay and land tax bills,

Just check out the daily tabloids

To have your fill. 

 

Stewart Russell © August 28, 2026

It’s Happening Again

 

 

Here I am again

With this longing to write

But as has happened before

Nothing’s in sight.

 

Nothing on the horizon

Or even beyond,

Maybe I should stop here

And be gone.

 

But it’s a challenge

That I must overcome,

Some idea will come along

Before I am done.

 

Writer’s block?  Nah!

There are so many topics,

I just want to move away

From what is habit.

 

 

I just came on an idea

Let me see if I can work it,

When I have expressed it

Then you can edit.

 

Is God still doing

Or has God already done?

I’d love to have your thoughts

On this precise one.

 

God is a planner

All can see this is a fact,

Having set things in motion

Why would He look back?

 

As though He is man

And does not know in full

Thus, has to make adjustments

Like ordinary people.

 

God who is proactive

Has put everything in place,

No fallaciousness in Him

No, not a trace.

 

 

God’s will be done

As the prayer clearly states,

He alone already knows

What is our fate.

 

As said in another place

All’s history in God’s eyes,

That He knows everything

Is no surprise.

 

God doesn’t have to do

Having already done,

Battles past present and future

He has already won

 

The doing is the Spirit’s

As he directs to the cross,

Another tick in the Book of Life

For no longer lost.

 

It is happening again

Across the whole wide world,

Not my occasional block

But the Gospel is heard.

 

 

Another checked off

That has come home,

Calling safe and election sure;

Nevermore to roam.

 

Stewart Russell © January 16, 2024