Over two month ago, when I first wrote Come, Jesus Come, it was born out of longing. But recently, that longing has deepened into an ache I could hardly put into words.

I heard the news of a death so perverse, so unthinkable, that it left me befuddled. And what made it worse was not only the act itself, but the praise that followed. I scrolled through comments, watched reactions – people smiling, laughing, even setting up cameras to celebrate that a man had been killed and I honestly concluded that those comments and posts are part of content that no child of God should consume. Not a tyrant like Hitler. Not a criminal caught in evil deeds. But a man bold enough to stand against wrong, to speak truth with courage, to engage the youth, to challenge minds, and to seek for peace over violence. And yet – he was murdered by the very violence he was speaking against in the moment.

I sat there, gutted. Overwhelmed by how dark and twisted the human heart can be apart from God. Hearts blind to truth. Hearts that mock righteousness. Hearts that celebrate evil and parade it without shame. Watching it unfold felt demonic.

I cried. And I prayed.
“Jesus, come quickly.”

In that moment, I appreciated the justice of God in a new way. I longed for His return, because what else could make things right? What else could pierce such deep darkness? And yet, in the middle of my grief, I found a flicker of hope – because from the little I knew of him, he was saved. He knew You, Lord. And for that, I could only say: thank You. Thank You that death did not have the final word over his soul.

And then the Holy Spirit whispered to me: “This is what they did to Jesus”.
They killed Him.
But He died for them.
For the very people who mocked Him, pierced Him, and nailed Him to a cross. For the very kind of people who even now kill the innocent, twist the truth, and love and celebrate what God hates.

That reminder moved me to write this. Because Jesus is still the solution. Not politics. Not money. Not another human “fix.” Only Jesus.

But here’s the sobering truth we cannot escape and that many seem to have forgotten: before Jesus returns, it will only get darker.
He Himself told us plainly what to expect not so that we would be surprised, but so that we would be ready.

“You will hear of wars and rumors of wars… nation will rise against nation… there will be famines and earthquakes… many will turn away from the faith… because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold. But the one who stands firm to the end will be saved” (Matthew 24:6–13).

This is not a possibility. It is a certainty. The world is not drifting toward peace, it is racing toward chaos. Hearts will grow harder. Truth will be mocked. Evil will parade itself more boldly. And many who once burned with love for God will find their flame flickering out.

But hear me,  this is not cause for panic or fear-mongering. This is cause for preparation.

Because when the Bridegroom comes, He is not coming for everyone who shows up at church, or for everyone who once prayed a prayer. Neither is He coming for those who merely fear eternal damnation. He is coming for those who are ready. Those who carry oil in their lamps. Those whose love for Him has not grown cold in the midnight hour.

The crowd won’t save you. The motions won’t sustain you. Borrowed faith won’t light your path.
Only oil will.

And the midnight cry will come –  suddenly, unexpectedly, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye. And in that moment, there will be no time to go and buy oil. No time to scramble for intimacy with Jesus. No time to play catch-up on years of neglect. Either your lamp will be burning… or it will not.

That is why now is the time to press in. Now is the time to tend your flame. Now is the time to store up oil in the secret place with Him.

Because while the world gets darker, your lamp should shine brighter.

The five foolish virgins looked the part. They were dressed. They were waiting. They were religious enough to show up. But when the cry rang out –  “Here’s the Bridegroom! Come out to meet Him!”,  they discovered too late that their lamps were empty.

Beloved, we can’t afford to have empty lamps in this hour.
We can’t afford a borrowed faith.
We can’t afford a routine Christianity that dies in the waiting.

We need oil.
The oil of intimacy.
The oil of the secret place.
The oil that only comes from loving Him more than this world.

And yes, while the world will grow darker, our lamps can burn brighter.
While deception spreads, truth can root us deeper.
While hatred abounds, love can make us stronger.
While fear consumes many, His perfect peace can guard our hearts.

But not without oil.

The question is not just, “Do you know about Him?”
It is, “Do you carry Him? Do you love Him? Do you long for Him? Do you believe in Him?”

Because the end of this story is not despair. It is glory. Jesus is coming back, and He will set everything right. But until then, we love, we endure. We suffer long. We shine. We keep watch with lamps burning. 

So as the world grows more perverse, may we not grow cold.
May we not become numb to evil.
May we not shrink in fear.

Instead, may we be found faithful, oil in hand, eyes lifted, hearts burning with one prayer:

Come, Lord Jesus. Come.