We all can see the writing on the wall. Donald J. Trump and his authoritarian administration will stop at seemingly nothing but the hand of God to turn back the hands of time to a day reminiscent of segregation, hate, and fear.
The rolling back of DEI initiatives and uber aggressive federal workforce scale back has left hundreds of thousands of Americans without work.
The attacks on free speech, black history, and any and everything woke will prove to be the hangman’s own undoing.
You cannot and will not be able to prevent God’s progression of truth. We must and will overcome.
We simply must resist tyranny with all our might and weather the storm with steadfast and patient endurance.
The race is not given to the swift, but he who endures t through to the end shall have eternal victory.
What Trump is doing is simply not sustainable and Babylon’s institutional and systemic towers will fall.
The first shall be last, and the last shall be first. So, keep the faith and persevere. We got this!
Woke & Rooted | The Stained Glass Collective | From the Belly Ministries
Walking With God: Becoming a Friend of the Divine — Part 1
Scripture:
“Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day…”
— Genesis 3:8 (NIV)
“Enoch walked faithfully with God; then he was no more, because God took him away.”
— Genesis 5:24 (NIV)
Before the Fall, There Was Friendship.
Before commandments were etched into stone…
Before temples were built with hands…
Before doctrine, denomination, or dogma…
There was a garden.
And in that garden, God walked.
Not reigned.
Not ruled.
Not roared.
Walked.
The image is tender, almost scandalous in its simplicity: the Creator of the universe choosing proximity over power. Communion over command. Friendship over fear.
The first thing God wanted from humanity was not obedience, but intimacy.
The Sound of God’s Footsteps
The Hebrew of Genesis 3:8 is poetic. The phrase “the sound of the Lord God walking” evokes not thunder or trumpet, but something soft. Familiar. Almost like a loved one’s keys jingling at the door.
Adam and Eve recognized that sound.
Which means… they’d heard it before.
This wasn’t God’s first walk through the garden. It was part of the rhythm of their relationship—divine footsteps in the dew, presence in the cool of the day.
Sin didn’t kill that friendship. Shame did.
They hid not because God was different… but because they were.
And still—God called for them.
Friendship with God is not broken by our failure. It’s broken by our belief that God won’t still show up in the same place looking for us.
Enoch and the Unseen Journey
Later in the Genesis story, we meet Enoch—a man whose name most folks pass by. But the text says something remarkable:
“Enoch walked faithfully with God; then he was no more, because God took him away.”
(Genesis 5:24)
That’s it. No burning bush. No parting seas. No miracles recorded. Just… he walked.
And God loved the walk so much, He didn’t let it end.
Enoch teaches us that faithfulness isn’t always about performance.
Sometimes friendship with God looks like quiet consistency.
The daily choice to journey with God when nobody else is watching.
The Friendship We Were Made For
Many of us have inherited a God who is distant, suspicious, or perpetually disappointed.
But in Eden, before exile, was a different story.
A God who walked.
Who waited.
Who called.
Who came close.
And maybe… that’s the friendship we were made for.
Walking Forward
In a world obsessed with performance, productivity, and platform, this blog series invites you to rediscover God as Friend—not employer, not judge, not just Savior—but Friend.
This week, ask yourself:
Am I walking with God, or just working for God? Where have I hidden out of shame, believing God wouldn’t come find me? How can I recover the rhythm of divine friendship?
Prayer
God of the garden,
You walked before You ruled.
You called before You commanded.
Let me hear Your footsteps again.
Help me unlearn the fear that hides,
And return to the Friend who still walks toward me.
“Cry aloud, do not hold back; raise your voice like a trumpet.”
—Isaiah 58:1 (NRSVUE)
We Were Never Meant to Be Silent
The world is on fire—again.
Cops are still killing. Corporations are still profiting. Courts are still ruling against the poor.
And still, the Church too often whispers when it should wail.
But the prophets weren’t quiet.
They didn’t just pray—they provoked.
They didn’t just fast—they fought.
Protest is not outside the gospel. It is at the center of it.
What Stained Glass Really Means
We’ve been taught to see stained glass as something sacred because it’s beautiful.
But stained glass isn’t sacred because it’s pretty.
It’s sacred because it was born from shattered pieces.
It is broken glass, soldered together, catching the light.
It is survival made into art.
It is a theology of fragmentation—where wounds become windows.
So when you protest, create, cry out, or speak up, you’re not destroying anything sacred.
You’re honoring it.
Protest Is a Prayer
In a world flooded with state violence, ecological collapse, voter suppression, and attacks on women, trans folks, and Black children—what else is left but holy refusal?
Your protest is your prayer.
Your presence in the streets is your liturgy.
Your mural on the boarded-up storefront is your sermon.
Protest is how we tell the truth when the system is built on lies.
Jesus Flipped Tables
The American Church has domesticated Jesus.
Turned him into a brand ambassador for power, whiteness, and empire.
But the real Jesus?
He disrupted commerce, challenged empire, and made a whip when prayer wasn’t enough.
And he wasn’t alone.
Moses challenged Pharaoh.
Deborah led troops.
The prophets called out corruption in the palace and the sanctuary.
So if your protest makes powerful people uncomfortable—you’re in good company.
What We Build Now
Stained glass was once used to teach stories to people who couldn’t read.
Maybe today, your protest visuals, reels, poetry, and digital murals are the new stained glass.
Maybe they’re how we tell the truth in a world flooded with lies.
Maybe your creativity is prophetic architecture—resisting the empire with every brushstroke, lyric, and beat drop.
Don’t let anyone tell you your vision is too much.
Don’t shrink your voice for their comfort.
We need more light. Even if it shines through cracks.
This Is the Church Now
The sanctuary isn’t always a building.
Sometimes it’s the subway car with protest flyers on the seats.
Sometimes it’s a block party.
Sometimes it’s a mural on a jail wall.
Wherever truth meets beauty and refuses to bow—that’s Church.
Wherever your resistance becomes reflection—that’s sacred.
“But you are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a peculiar people…”
—1 Peter 2:9 (KJV)
They said we were scattered because we sinned.
They told us our exile was punishment, our dispersion a disgrace.
They forgot that God often moves through what the world calls broken.
We are the Diaspora Priesthood.
The Scattered Are Also the Sacred
When the temple fell and the Ark was carried into enemy territory, the presence of God didn’t vanish—it moved. It met the people where they were: in the wilderness, in exile, in Babylon.
So many of us in the African Diaspora have been taught to view our history as a chain of losses: lost names, lost tongues, lost lands, lost gods. But what if we are not just a scattered people—we are also a consecrated people?
What if the journey through ships, plantations, prisons, and projects was never about erasure, but about refinement?
Like the Levites, we were set apart. But not for a temple made of stone.
We were set apart to carry presence in the wilderness.
The Priesthood Was Never Meant to Stay in the Sanctuary
In today’s world, the word “priest” conjures up a figure robed in ceremony, separated from the people, far from protest or pain. But in Exodus, priests were born of fire. Their first duty was to stand in the gap.
They were mediators. Bridge-builders. Bearers of sacrifice.
And that is who we are now—those who live between worlds. Between Babylon and Zion. Between grief and glory.
We are priests not because we wear collars, but because we’ve survived captivity and still carry the name of the Lord in our bones.
Diaspora Doesn’t Disqualify You—It Ordains You
God didn’t wait for us to return to the “promised land” to call us. God called us in Babylon. Just like Ezekiel received visions by the rivers of captivity. Just like Daniel led in the king’s court. Just like Jesus, born under empire, moved among the marginalized.
Our location is not a limitation. Our dislocation is divine preparation.
We are a priesthood forged not in temples, but in ghettos and plantations, in jazz clubs and protests, in classrooms and courtrooms.
We are a people of liturgy and liberation.
We are a people of incense and insurrection.
A Sacred Responsibility
To be a priest in exile is to:
Carry sacredness into secular spaces Speak truth to empire even when it costs us safety Build altars in places others abandon Pray with calloused hands Teach the children to sing freedom songs
You don’t need a pulpit to be a priest. You need only a willingness to carry presence wherever you are.
Closing Prayer
God of scattered peoples,
God of the wilderness and the fire,
Call forth your priesthood from every corner of the Diaspora.
Anoint those who feel forgotten.
Strengthen those who feel unworthy.
Let your glory rise not from cathedrals, but from kitchen tables, street corners, and prison cells.
Let our worship be resistance.
Let our resistance be holy.
Let your presence dwell among the displaced.
And let us remember:
We are not lost.
We are sent.
We are the Diaspora Priesthood.
Amen.
🕊️ Read, reflect, and share.
🎨 Engage with this week’s visuals on Instagram @thestainedglasscollective.
📖 Join us next week for “Stained Glass as Protest.”
🏜️ The Wilderness is Where God Judges and Forms His People
“I will bring you into the wilderness of the nations, and there, face to face, I will execute judgment upon you.”
— Ezekiel 20:35–36
In this sacred in-between, the African Diaspora finds itself.
We are not fully enslaved. But not yet free.
We are post-plantation but pre-Zion.
We are in the wilderness between worlds.
It’s where God calls His people out—not just physically, but spiritually.
Out of survival mode.
Out of empire logic.
Out of borrowed theology.
Here, the remnant is refined—not erased.
🐫 The Wilderness is a Pattern, Not a Place
The wilderness is the ancient pattern of transformation:
Israel wandered 40 years, unlearning Egypt. Elijah fled into it to hear the whisper of God. Yahshua was led there to confront the enemy face-to-face. And now, we are here—facing generational strongholds and prophetic destiny.
The wilderness isn’t a detour. It’s the curriculum of freedom.
✊🏾 The Diaspora is in a Wilderness Moment
We know who we’re not—but not yet who we are.
We are deconstructing, detangling, detoxing.
We’re leaving Babylon but still haunted by its language,
its pace, its God-complex.
We are wandering through:
Unhealed trauma Colonized Christianity Economic bondage Cultural amnesia
But like our ancestors, we are not lost—we are being led.
💧 The Wilderness is Where the Covenant is Renewed
“So I will bring you into the wilderness… I will take note of you as I did your ancestors… and I will bring you into the bond of covenant.”
— Ezekiel 20:35–37
This wilderness is where God renames us.
Reclaims us.
Re-covenants us.
It’s where we stop being “minorities” and start being priests.
Where we stop performing and start remembering.
Where the scattered become sacred again.
🌄 Between Babylon and Zion Lies the Wilderness
This is where we are now.
No longer enslaved, but not yet enthroned.
No longer deceived, but not yet delivered.
But in the wilderness, the truth is loud.
The manna is messy.
The miracles are quiet.
And the promise still waits ahead.
🕯️ Keep Walking
If you are weary—walk.
If you are unsure—walk.
If you are not who you used to be, but not yet who you hope to be—walk.
The wilderness is not your final form.
It’s your proving ground.
Zion still waits.
And every step you take is stained glass in motion.
📖 Read the first post: Babylon Isn’t a City, It’s a System
A stained-glass vision of deliverance: the remnant walks away from the ruins of empire toward a path of covenant light. Babylon is behind. Zion awaits.
🔥 Come Out of Her, My People
Babylon is not just a place—it’s a pattern.
It’s not just ancient—it’s alive.
And if you’re only looking for it on a map,
you’ll miss the fact that you’re already in it.
When Revelation declares, “Come out of her, my people” (Rev. 18:4),
it’s not simply about geography.
It’s about spiritual separation from systems that exploit, erase, and enslave.
🏛️ Babylon Then
In Scripture, Babylon was the empire that captured and exiled Judah.
It burned the temple.
It mocked the prophets.
It demanded holy people sing songs in a foreign land.
It was the first place where theology had to live without buildings.
Where holiness had to survive without a sanctuary.
Where prophets wept by the waters (Psalm 137)
and dreamed of deliverance.
🌆 Babylon Now
But Babylon never died—it just rebranded.
Today, Babylon is systemic:
White supremacy clothed in law. Capitalism that devours the poor. Churches that echo empire more than Christ. Cultures that steal our stories and sell them back to us.
Babylon is anything that says:
“Bow to this image, or burn.” (Daniel 3)
✊🏾 The Diaspora Is Not Home—It’s Holding Ground
We are the scattered.
The descendants of a stolen people.
And just like our ancestors in exile,
we’ve been told to blend in and shut up.
But the call still echoes through time:
“Flee from Babylon! Run for your lives!” — Jeremiah 51:6
This doesn’t mean run without vision.
It means build something holy outside the system.
It means love deeper than they hate.
It means reclaim our name, our priesthood, and our power.
🌄 Toward Zion
Zion is not a megachurch.
It’s not an aesthetic.
It’s not nationalism.
Zion is the kingdom of God breaking through the cracks.
It’s justice in motion.
Joy uncolonized.
Covenant unbroken.
We are on our way there.
But to enter Zion, we have to leave Babylon behind.
🎨 Stained Glass Resistance
The Stained Glass Collective exists to name the system,
to call the remnant,
and to rebuild sacred memory.
Each post is a shard of revelation.
Each image, a window into freedom.
Each truth, a break from Babylon’s spell.
🕯️ Are You Still in Babylon?
Ask yourself:
Who profits from your silence? What idols have you bowed to? Are you building Zion—or renting Babylon’s stage?
You don’t have to stay.
Babylon isn’t a city—it’s a system.
And systems collapse when the truth refuses to cooperate.
From exile to expression—he stands in the window of revelation. Every shard, a story. Every color, a calling. This is what it means to be seen through stained glass: Not despite the breaking, but because of it.
🕊️ We Are the Broken Made Beautiful
We are the scattered made whole.
The exiled made priestly.
The silenced made prophetic.
The Stained Glass Collective was born from a sacred tension—
between what has been broken and what still burns with light.
We are a digital community of faith, color, culture, and calling—
refusing to let theology remain cold, distant, or colonized.
🌍 Diaspora Is Not Defeat
We believe the African Diaspora is not forgotten—it is chosen.
We carry the story of Israel, exiled but not erased.
Our suffering is not senseless.
Our memory is not myth.
We are God’s remnant, awakening in the wilderness of empire.
📖 We Read Scripture Through Cracked Glass
This Collective is not just about art—it is about reclaiming the sacred.
We see scripture not as a tool of dominance but a blueprint for liberation.
We read with the fire of Moses, the lament of Jeremiah,
the visions of Ezekiel, and the faith of the Revelation church.
Each post, each graphic, each blog entry is a shard of stained glass—
reflecting divine light through our pain, beauty, and Blackness.
🎨 Our Theology Is Not Theoretical
We do not debate doctrine for sport.
We live theology like breath, like blood, like fire in our bones.
We speak to the mother who prays in silence.
To the son who has only known exile.
To the neighbor who stands beside us, not above us.
To the remnant—Black and non-Black—who are tired of Babylon’s lies
and ready to walk toward Zion.
🔥 The Second Exodus Is Underway
This is not just a movement. It’s a migration.
Out of oppression.
Out of whitewashed faith.
Out of performative religion.
Into covenant.
Into community.
Into Kingdom.
We believe in the Second Exodus—a spiritual deliverance
for God’s people scattered in every nation,
a priesthood reborn from ashes,
a church without walls,
a God who still sets captives free.
🕯️ This Is Your Invitation
If you’re wandering—we welcome you.
If you’re awakening—we walk with you.
If you’re willing—we work beside you.
The stained glass isn’t finished.
We are still piecing it together.
Each voice, each story, each scripture—
makes the mosaic more radiant.
📍 Join Us.
Follow us on instagram @thestainedglasscollective for visual theology and prophetic infographics.
The Stained Glass Collective 