In this twilight of the age where pulpits echo preferences instead of presence, and sanctuaries resemble theaters more than threshing floors, the sacred triad—salvation, consecration, and sanctification—has been pushed to the margins of Christian vocabulary. The Cross has become décor for necks and not death for flesh. What once made men tremble now makes them trend. The faith that once bled for truth now bends for ovations. Yet the Kingdom does not pivot at popularity—it demands purity.
Real salvation is not a handshake and a smile—it is a rupture in the spirit realm, a break from the womb of sin into the breath of eternity. It is not recital; it is resurrection. Jesus didn’t call Nicodemus into a ceremony but into a spiritual birth canal: “Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God” (John 3:3). It is not cosmetic. It is catastrophic to the old man. Paul didn’t merely join the church—he died and lived again: “If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature…” (2 Corinthians 5:17). But now, we have believers who confess Christ with their lips but carry Judas in their hearts. They are converted by choir songs but not by Calvary’s sorrow.
Consecration—that old wine reserved for holy vessels—is now branded as fanaticism. But the sacred has never bowed to popularity. Consecration is not a denominational trend—it is a divine branding. “Come out from among them and be ye separate…” (2 Corinthians 6:17). This separation is not isolation, but insulation. It is not alienation from the world—it is alignment with God. Consecration is the altar that Abraham built, the fast that Esther kept, the Nazarite vow that set Samson apart. But now, the lines have blurred. Church choirs dance to club beats, and the pulpit winks at sin with a grin. Yet the Holy God has not changed.
Sanctification, the flame that follows the fire, is the evidence that one has truly met the Lord. “This is the will of God, even your sanctification…” (1 Thessalonians 4:3). It is not for pastors alone. It is the believer’s oxygen. It is not occasional—it is perpetual. Daily washing, daily dying, daily rising. “I die daily,” said Paul (1 Corinthians 15:31). Where there is no sanctification, there is no sustained salvation. Without sanctification, we have gifted people with godless private lives—anointed but unaccountable, powerful in public but perishing in private.
We now have a generation that knows the microphone but not the Master, a people who pray in tongues but play in sin. Motivational speaking has replaced holy living. The altar no longer weeps, because the pew no longer repents. “Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof…” (2 Timothy 3:5). Sanctification has become strange fire—preached less, practiced least. But the Word burns still: “Be ye holy; for I am holy” (1 Peter 1:16). Holiness is not for monks—it is for men who carry the name of Christ.
The tragedy of this hour is that we have become a people content with the appearance of godliness—polished pulpits, packed pews, perfect choirs, but hollow hearts. The prophetic edge has been dulled. The sacred lamp flickers. Jesus is called “Saviour” but not “Lord”. “Why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?” (Luke 6:46). In this modern rebranding of Christianity, salvation is cheap, consecration is old school, and sanctification is optional. But heaven’s standard has not shifted.
Pastor Chris Oyakhilome once thundered, “The Christian life is a calling to higher realms—not just to escape hell but to embody heaven.” The Christian is not just forgiven—he is transformed. He is not just healed—he is holy. When salvation is real, consecration is natural, and sanctification is continuous. As Prophet TB Joshua taught, “You cannot carry divine power with dirty hands.” But today, unrepentant hearts wear cassocks, and hirelings masquerade as shepherds. The veil is torn, yet we hide behind religion.
True revival will never come until the Church returns to her first fire. Not to programs, but to presence. Not to lights, but to light. Not to strategy, but to sanctity. The altars must burn again, not with choreography but with consecrated groaning. Let the priests weep between the porch and the altar (Joel 2:17). Let tears return to the temple. Let sin be named and nailed. Let saints be called out and set apart. For until we rediscover these three pillars, we will only echo God’s name without echoing His nature.
“Without holiness, no man shall see the Lord” (Hebrews 12:14). This is not a slogan. It is a heavenly constitution. Salvation is your entry, consecration is your alignment, sanctification is your proof. Without them, Christianity becomes noise without depth, a movement without power, a church without Christ.
So let the church not just wear the Cross—let her walk it. Let our altars bleed. Let our hearts burn. Let our hands be clean. For in these days of great deception, only those marked by real salvation, true consecration, and ongoing sanctification will endure to the end.
And it is to these that the Lord shall say: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant…” (Matthew 25:21).
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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