The hour is late, the sky is bruised with prophecy, and the night winds carry whispers of the King’s imminent return. But alas, lamps are dim, and many are sleepwalking through sacred seasons. In this perilous twilight of nations and the trembling of thrones, a remnant groans with urgency: “Give me oil in my lamp, give me oil for the journey, give substance for the sojourn,” as voiced in the spirit-drenched song of Sharon Umola Anana. This is not the echo of entertainers, but the travail of watchmen. Not the chorus of crowds, but the lament of the consecrated. For we have danced too long with empty lamps, and now the midnight cry is upon us.
Prophetic discernment reveals that we are no longer in ordinary times. This is not a season for spectacle, but for sacred replenishment. The Church has become decorative when it should be directive. We carry golden candlesticks but neglect the sacred oil. We flash lights in auditoriums but cannot navigate personal darkness. Where is the weight? Where is the substance? Where are the burning ones?
We must confess it: many have substituted intimacy for itinerary, and revelation for rehearsals. We mount pulpits but lack presence. We recite verses but betray the Voice. And now, like the foolish virgins of Matthew 25, many are trying to borrow oil when they should have been buying it in secret. But alas, no man can lend what only the Holy Ghost imparts. The King tarries, and the superficial is being sifted. What is light without oil? Noise without knowing? Form without fire?
This is the hour to cry, not for platforms, but for pressing. Not for crowds, but for consecration. Mike Murdock once thundered, “Your reaction to God determines His reaction to you.” In a generation obsessed with reaction and recognition, who will still seek His face in the shadows? Who will carry oil in clay vessels? Who will exchange influence for incense?
Beloved, the Kingdom is not inherited by casual seekers but by burning ones. Christianity is not a religion of cosmetics—it is a covenant of combustion. To burn for the King is to refuse the seduction of applause and instead yield to the summons of altars. This fire cannot be outsourced. This oil cannot be microwaved. It is distilled in the wilderness, in tears that touch eternity.
Sharon Umola Anana’s prophetic anthem “Give me oil for the journey, give substance for the sojourn” is not poetic filler—it is a coded spiritual alarm. For many are traveling light in a realm that demands spiritual weight. The journey is not a conference, it is a covenant path. The sojourn is not a career, it is a crucifixion. Without substance, you will speak but not shift. Without oil, you will glow but not grow.
And if you have not yet bowed at the feet of Christ, this is your divine junction. This is not the hour for religion—it is the hour of redemption. The lamps of religion are flickering, but the fire of the cross still burns. Jesus is not a denominational figure; He is the Lamp and the Light, the Oil and the Flame. The One who baptizes not with water only, but with fire. The One who alone gives substance for your sojourn.
Hear me, wanderer: a lamp without Jesus is a grave in disguise. A soul without surrender is a famine waiting to happen. Give your life to Christ—not tomorrow, not next week, but now. And if you are within the corridors of Idah, Kogi State, Nigeria, we beckon you to fellowship with us at Latter Glory Kingdom Assembly, Along Inachalo Road. There, we tarry until fire falls. There, we birth oil through groanings that cannot be uttered. There, we do not gather for religion—we align for revival.
Let every heart rejoin the ancestral cry of the burning bride: “Give me oil in my lamp, keep me burning… until the coming of the King.” Let prophets arise again—not those who predict rain, but those who prepare arks. Let intercessors stand on the wall—not with timidity, but with tenacity. Let every preacher throw down the script and pick up the sacred scroll. The King is not coming for the loudest—He is coming for the lit.
So burn, dear believer—not for reputation, but for redemption. Burn—not for titles, but for transformation. Burn—not for performance, but for presence. And may the substance of Christ be the oil of your journey and the fire of your soul.
For in the Day of Reckoning, there shall be no rehearsal. Only those with trimmed lamps, baptized in oil and anchored in the Word, shall rise to meet the Groom.
Let this then be our cry in the upper room of our generation:
“Give me oil in my lamp… give me oil for the journey… give substance for the sojourn… and keep me burning—until the coming of the King.”
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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