This morning, I was awoken at 3 AM. No alarm clock. I couldn’t go back to sleep, nor did I want to. I got out of bed and sat with Jesus. What began as quiet communion turned into full-on spiritual surgery. A left turn at Albuquerque, as they say. I was wrecked. Cleaned out. Set free. Again. SO BEAUTIFUL.

Then something remarkable happened. A few minutes ago, I stumbled across a sermon by Paul Washer titled, “Why True Believers Are Leaving the Church.” And as I listened, it felt like looking in a mirror. I had never met Paul personally, but I know him—we’ve heard the same message from Jesus. Paul speaks the same message the Holy Spirit has been shouting to me for seven years: It’s time to come out. It’s time to wake up. It’s time to purify the Bride.

What Paul says in his message—this Holy Spirit-delivered, prophetically-timed, Heaven-breathed message—is everything I’ve wanted to say, everything I have said in five books and hundreds of articles, but more clearly, more urgently, more piercingly than I could ever articulate. It was like God placed two twin brothers on opposite coasts of the Kingdom and handed us matching swords.

So here’s what I’m going to do: I’m laying down my pen. And I’m handing it to Paul Washer.

What follows is not just another blog post. It’s a call to arms. A trumpet blast to the Bride. A holy rebuke to Babylon. A rescue rope to the Remnant.

If you’re a spiritual exile—this is for you. If you’ve been betrayed by church leaders—this is for you. If you’ve been told to “stop being so intense”—this is for you. If you’ve ever been kicked out of a church for daring to seek God’s presence, God’s power, and God’s purity—this is for you.

Two years ago, I was asked by a local pastor—let’s call him Tony—“Why you, Craig?” Why are you? Essentially, Tony was saying,”Why won’t you stay quiet? Why are you stirring things up?”

This letter answers that question.

To every believer who's felt the same ache, the same burden, the same holy fire—this is your confirmation. You’re not crazy. You’re not alone. You’re not wrong. You’re chosen.

Read this letter slowly. Let it read to you. Let it tear down every lie, and rebuild you in the truth.

Jesus is coming. The Bride must make herself ready. And the chosen ones… we’ve got work to do.

What follows is a transcription of Paul’s teaching. It is raw, unfiltered, full of fire, love, truth, and conviction. It does not flatter. It does not entertain. It proclaims. It warns. It pierces. And it points us back to Jesus—the real Jesus.

The following is for every soul who has ever asked, “Why me?” To every chosen one who has walked out of a church building, not to rebel but to breathe again. To every spiritual exile looking for a home that has not compromised.

This is your letter. This is your answer. This is your invitation to come out, come up, and come alive.

A Letter in the Voice of Paul Washer

Dear Church,

Why are the ones who burn for truth—the ones called, set apart, and filled with the Spirit—walking out of buildings that call themselves churches? Why are they saying, “I can’t stay here anymore?” Is it rebellion?

No. It’s discernment. It’s grief. It’s a holy ache. They are not walking away from Christ—they are walking toward Him.

Week after week, they sat in pews while the presence of God was replaced with fog machines and shallow slogans. They came hungry and left starving. They wept for righteousness but were told to relax. They longed for the Word but were given motivational speeches wrapped in a verse or two.

The true Church—the blood-bought Bride of Christ—is not a brand. It’s not a business. It’s a holy people. And God is calling His chosen ones out of dead religion and into radical surrender.

This is not a church exodus. It’s a purification. A sifting. A return to the altar.

So before we point fingers at those who left, we must ask: Did they leave the Church, or did the Church leave Christ?

Many churches in our time have exchanged the glory of God for entertainment. The gospel, which once thundered from pulpits with trembling, has been reduced to stage performances and catchy sermon series. You walk in and see flashing lights, hear carefully curated music, and listen to a man speak for 30 minutes—not with the authority of Heaven, but with the tone of a self-help coach.

The name of Jesus is used, but the weight of His cross is absent. The fear of the Lord is almost entirely gone. And instead of repentance, people are comforted in their rebellion.

This is why the chosen ones—those truly called by God, born again by His Spirit—are leaving. Not because they have abandoned Christ, but because they cannot stomach what the modern church experience has become.

They are not rebellious sheep. They are wounded warriors. Starved disciples. Hungry for truth. Desperate for the presence of the living God.

They come to church expecting the Bread of Life but are handed spiritual junk food: no depth, no power, no gospel. Just empty slogans like “God loves you,” with no mention of sin, judgment, or the desperate need for the cross.

In the Bible, we are told to worship God in Spirit and in truth. But today, truth has been diluted. Holiness has been replaced with hype. The church platform has become a performance stage, and the fear of offending man has silenced the call to repentance.

But the true gospel is offensive. It tells you that you are dead in sin, that you cannot save yourself, that your best efforts are filthy rags before a holy God. It declares that unless you are born again, you cannot see the Kingdom of Heaven.

The chosen ones know this. They’ve tasted the real gospel. They’ve seen the power of God. And now, when they walk into a church where sin is joked about, where there’s more talk of prosperity than purity, where pastors avoid speaking of hell for fear of losing members—they grieve.

They are not looking for comfort. They are looking for Christ. And when He’s not there, they cannot stay.

We are told to preach the Word in season and out of season—that means even when it’s unpopular, even when it cuts, even when it divides.

The early Church wasn’t known for its lighting design or parking team. It was known for its power. Its holiness. Its unshakable truth. And that is what the chosen ones are longing for.

A church that looks like the church in Acts—not a modern-day theater.

We are in an hour where people no longer endure sound doctrine, but heap up for themselves teachers who say what their itching ears want to hear. But the chosen ones? They don’t want ear candy. They want the sword. They want conviction. They want transformation.

That’s why they’re leaving—not to escape Christ, but to find Him again. To sit under preaching that breaks chains, not tickles ears. To be in a body that fears God more than man.

The chosen ones are not leaving the true Church. They are fleeing deception and compromise.

That must be made clear.

They are not spiritual nomads. They are exiles. Like Lot fleeing Sodom, they are not leaving for comfort but for conscience. Their souls are vexed by what they hear from pulpits that no longer preach sin, no longer warn of judgment, and no longer tremble before the holiness of God.

They leave because the music no longer glorifies Christ—it glorifies self. They leave because sermons are no longer soaked in Scripture—they are drenched in psychology. They leave because the altar has been replaced with a stage, and the fear of God has been replaced with the applause of men.

They leave because their spirits are grieved, their hearts are hungry, and their souls long for the living God.

Let us be honest: the true Church has always been the remnant. The narrow road was never crowded. From the days of Noah, to Elijah standing alone on Mount Carmel, to Jeremiah weeping in the streets, to John the Baptist crying out in the wilderness—the pattern has always been the same.

The majority settles for religion. The remnant cries out for righteousness.

And today, that cry is rising again.

We were told that many would fall away. That the love of many would grow cold. That false teachers would arise, leading many astray. This isn’t a surprise. It’s prophecy being fulfilled.

And while many churches grow in number, they shrink in holiness. While platforms expand, the presence of God withdraws.

The chosen ones sense it. They feel it. They can no longer sing along when they know the worship is empty. They can no longer clap when they know the sermon has no weight. They cannot pretend that everything is fine when the fire of the Holy Spirit is gone.

It’s not that they’re giving up on church. It’s that they are being called out by the Head of the Church Himself—called out of compromise, called out of man-made traditions, called out of consumer Christianity.

They are being drawn not into isolation but into intimacy. Not into rebellion, but into repentance. They are not looking for a building. They are looking for a body.

A body that is crucified with Christ. A body built on the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus Himself as the chief cornerstone. They are looking for pastors who preach with tears, for elders who live in holiness, for fellowship that carries the weight of eternity.

They are seeking the upper room—not the green room.

They are desperate for truth—even if it hurts. Because they know the truth is the only thing that will set them free.

They are not perfect. They have questions. They have wounds. But they would rather wrestle with God in the wilderness than sit silently in a house that’s on fire and pretend it’s a temple. They would rather be misunderstood by men than be misled by them.

They are chosen. And the mark of the chosen is not popularity—it’s purity. Not applause—but obedience.

The world may call it church hopping. Religious leaders may call it rebellion. But Heaven sees it differently.

Heaven sees it as hunger. Heaven sees it as pursuit. Heaven sees it as the stirring of the Bride—waking up from her slumber, shaking off the dust, and preparing herself for the return of her Bridegroom.

And when Jesus returns, He’s not coming for a popular church. He’s coming for a pure one. A radiant one. A holy one.

And that is what the chosen are searching for.

They are not running away from Church—they are running toward Christ.

And sometimes, that means walking out of what man has built in order to truly enter into what God is building.

God is purifying His Bride. We are living in an hour where the shaking has begun. The shaking of systems. The shaking of pulpits. The shaking of everything that can be shaken—so that only what is unshakable will remain.

The chosen ones leaving the church buildings is not a collapse—it’s a cleansing. It is the separating of what is holy from what is profane. The wheat is being separated from the chaff. And the more we ignore it, the more we blind ourselves to the hand of God at work.

In the Bible, we are told that Christ is coming for a Bride without spot or wrinkle. That means He’s not coming for a crowd—but for a consecrated people. He’s not coming for a church that blends in with the world—but for one that has been set apart.

And purification always comes before glorification. The fire always falls after the altar is cleansed.

But in many churches today, the altar has been abandoned. The call to holiness has been silenced. Sin is no longer confronted—it’s rebranded. And God is not indifferent. He is not passive. He is jealous for a pure Bride. And He will not allow mixture to remain.

So what is happening right now? The chosen ones are being pulled out—not because they are perfect, but because they are being prepared.

God is removing His remnant from systems that tolerate compromise. He is calling His people to come out of Babylon.

In Scripture, we are commanded to be holy as He is holy. And that word—holy—doesn’t mean better than. It means set apart.

That’s what’s happening.

A setting apart. A cleansing. A refining.

There was a time when the Church feared God. When people came to the altar trembling. When conviction fell so heavy that you couldn’t even lift your head. But now, in many places, the presence of God has been traded for personalities. Reverence has been replaced with relatability. The fire on the altar has gone out, and we’ve replaced it with artificial light.

Those who carry the Spirit of God can sense it. They feel the absence of the holy. And they can’t stay.

The Bible says that God will separate the sheep from the goats. That He will divide the true from the false. And many assume that’s only going to happen at the final judgment. But the process begins now.

It begins when people can no longer sit under messages that water down the cross. It begins when worshipers refuse to sing songs that glorify man instead of magnifying God. It begins when preachers are more afraid of offending sinners than of grieving the Holy Spirit.

And the true believers begin to walk out.

It’s not just church members being sifted. It’s pastors. It’s leaders. It’s entire denominations.

God is exposing corruption. He’s uncovering what has been hidden for decades. He’s bringing hidden sin into the light—not to destroy, but to purify. Not to shame, but to cleanse.

Because judgment begins in the house of God.

And what we are seeing is not a mass exodus—it’s a divine extraction.

God is removing the faithful from the defiled. He’s raising up voices that will not bend. Hearts that will not break under pressure. Messengers who would rather be rejected by men than rejected by God.

This is not new. Throughout the Bible, God has always worked through a remnant. It was never the majority that carried the flame—it was always the few.

The ones who would not bow to idols. The ones who would not eat at the king’s table. The ones who would rather be thrown in a furnace than compromise their faith.

And we are in such a time again.

The fire is being turned up, and the ones who truly belong to Him are being refined like gold.

But refinement is painful. It means loss. It means pruning. It means saying goodbye to places you once called home. It means walking away from crowds, from comfort, from tradition.

It means embracing the wilderness—not because you want to be alone, but because you want to be holy.

That’s the heart of the chosen.

They don’t seek attention—they seek alignment. They don’t chase platforms—they chase purity.

And let me tell you: this purification is necessary.

Because Jesus is coming back—not for a lukewarm, compromised church. Not for a church that entertains the world but offends Heaven.

He’s coming for a Bride who has made herself ready. A Bride that has oil in her lamp. A Bride that has not defiled herself with the world.

And that means there must be a cleansing now. A line in the sand. A call to return to the fear of the Lord.

The chosen ones are not leaving to rebel. They are being purified to return.

To return with power. To return with fire. To return with messages that pierce the heart.

God is removing them from polluted places, washing them in His Word, filling them with fresh oil, so that when the moment comes—they can be sent out again.

Not as spectators. But as soldiers. Not as consumers. But as carriers of glory.

This is the season of separation. The wheat from the chaff. The holy from the common. The true from the false.

Religious systems are comfortable with sin—but the Spirit-filled are not. That is one of the great dividing lines in this hour.

The systems of man can tolerate gossip, pride, lust, greed, and compromise—as long as the pews are full and the tithes keep coming in. But the Spirit of God cannot.

The Holy Spirit is not casual about sin. He grieves over it. He convicts it. He confronts it. And those who are filled with the Spirit cannot sit comfortably in a place where sin is no longer dealt with, where it’s excused, laughed at, and even repackaged as normal struggles.

This is why the chosen ones are walking out. Not because they think they’re better. Not because they’ve become legalistic. But because their spirits are disturbed by what they see.

They feel the weight of God’s holiness in their bones. They carry His burden in their hearts. And when they sit in services where sin is not confronted, where the fear of the Lord is missing, and where repentance is never preached—they can’t breathe. It’s like standing in a polluted atmosphere when your lungs were made for mountain air.

The deeper their intimacy with the Holy Spirit grows, the more allergic they become to anything impure, anything that defiles, anything that dishonors the name of Jesus.

They are being sanctified, not sedated. They are not satisfied with feel-good sermons or religious programming. Their souls crave holy confrontation—not spiritual sedation. And when a church no longer preaches against sin, it no longer loves people. Because love tells the truth—even when it hurts.

Love warns of judgment. Love confronts rebellion. Love calls people to repentance—not to affirmation.

But the religious system, much like the Pharisees of old, cares more about appearances than transformation. More about image than intimacy. More about the approval of men than the approval of God.

The chosen ones see this. They sense the absence of the cross. They sense that many pulpits no longer cry out for souls—but cry out for relevance. And their hearts break.

They look around and see people being entertained but not transformed. They see leaders anointed with charisma, but not with consecration. They see sin swept under the rug, issues ignored, wounds left untreated, and righteousness rarely spoken of.

And they wonder, “Where is the fear of the Lord? Where is the groaning for holiness? Where is the altar that burns with repentance?”

In the Bible, we are told that without holiness no one will see the Lord—not one. And holiness is not just outward behavior. It is inward surrender. It is to be set apart, sanctified, aligned with the heart of God. It is not legalism—it is liberty.

Liberty from sin. Liberty from shame. Liberty from the chains of the world.

When the Spirit truly dwells within a person, that person becomes uncomfortable in atmospheres where sin is joked about, where immorality is tolerated, and where conviction is absent.

Because the Spirit is holy.

They are being called out—not to isolation, but to consecration. They are not trying to start a rebellion. They are responding to a divine call. They are being led by the Spirit into wilderness places where God can speak clearly again. Where compromise is stripped away. Where hearts are purified. Where intimacy is restored.

They are crying out like the psalmist, “Search me, O God, and know my heart; see if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

It’s not about being too radical. It’s about being real. The Spirit-filled cannot fake it. They cannot nod and smile when the Word of God is being twisted to accommodate sin. They cannot just go along with it when they feel the Spirit grieving within them.

They may try for a season, but eventually, the fire inside will grow too strong. The ache too loud. The call too clear. And they will have to walk away—not from God, but toward Him. Not from the Church, but from the counterfeit.

The religious system will always accuse them. It will call them divisive, dramatic, even dangerous. But God sees the truth. He sees sons and daughters who refuse to settle for surface Christianity. Who want the real thing. Who are willing to lose friends, status, and comfort in order to walk in purity.

And to those ones, He is saying, “Come out from among them and be separate; touch no unclean thing, and I will receive you.”

This is the refining fire. This is the line in the sand.

The Spirit-filled will not bow—not to culture, not to compromise, not to a religious system that has made peace with sin.

Because they know this world is not their home. Their loyalty belongs to the Lamb who was slain.

And now, dear Church, let this be the final plea:

Return to your first love.

Strip away every layer of pretense, every human agenda, every worldly system, and fall again at the feet of Jesus. Let the tears of repentance flow. Let the groaning for holiness return. Let the fire fall—not on programs or productions—but on consecrated hearts.

The hour is late.

Jesus is not coming for a church that entertains sinners but for a church that exalts the Savior. Not for a church that courts the world, but for a church that clings to the Word.

The chosen ones are not leaving to escape. They are leaving to prepare. They are the voice crying out in the wilderness, “Make ready the way of the Lord!”

So if you feel this stirring in your spirit… if you’ve sensed the ache… if your soul groans for more…

Then come.

Come out from among them. Come back to the altar. Come back to the cross.

He is waiting. He is holy. He is worthy.

May the true Bride rise. May the fire fall. May the Spirit lead.

And may Jesus Christ be glorified.

Forever.

Amen.

A Final Call to the Chosen Ones

If you read this and something within you burned—good. That fire is not anger. It’s awakening. It’s not rebellion. It’s resurrection.

So now, let’s act.

Let’s not just nod our heads. Let’s not just share the link. Let’s gather.

Let’s take a step together, the Remnant, the Called-Out, the Chosen Ones. Let’s come to St. George, Utah, this May 2025—not for a show, but for a holy assembly. Let us gather to cry out. To fall on our faces. To wash feet. To seek the presence of Jesus with trembling and joy. To prepare the Bride.

Let’s hold a Banquet Feast for the King—worship, prayer, testimony, repentance, unity, and consecration. Not a conference. Not a celebrity showcase. But a solemn assembly in power and truth.

Are you willing to come? Are you willing to stay until He speaks? Are you willing to act on what the Spirit says?

The Bridegroom is coming. The Remnant is rising. Let’s meet Him together—pure, ready, on fire.

Will you come? Will you help prepare the way?