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 hangmanâs own undoing.
You cannot and will not be able to prevent Godâs 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 Babylonâs 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 â Part 1
Scripture:
âThen the man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the dayâŚâ
â Genesis 3:8 (NIV)
âEnoch walked faithfully with God; then he was no more, because God took him away.â
â Genesis 5:24 (NIV)
Before the Fall, There Was Friendship.
Before commandments were etched into stoneâŚ
Before temples were built with handsâŚ
Before doctrine, denomination, or dogmaâŚ
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 Godâs Footsteps
The Hebrew of Genesis 3:8 is poetic. The phrase âthe sound of the Lord God walkingâ evokes not thunder or trumpet, but something soft. Familiar. Almost like a loved oneâs keys jingling at the door.
Adam and Eve recognized that sound.
Which means⌠theyâd heard it before.
This wasnât Godâs first walk through the garden. It was part of the rhythm of their relationshipâdivine footsteps in the dew, presence in the cool of the day.
Sin didnât kill that friendship. Shame did.
They hid not because God was different⌠but because they were.
And stillâGod called for them.
Friendship with God is not broken by our failure. Itâs broken by our belief that God wonât still show up in the same place looking for us.
Enoch and the Unseen Journey
Later in the Genesis story, we meet Enochâa man whose name most folks pass by. But the text says something remarkable:
âEnoch walked faithfully with God; then he was no more, because God took him away.â
(Genesis 5:24)
Thatâs it. No burning bush. No parting seas. No miracles recorded. Just⌠he walked.
And God loved the walk so much, He didnât let it end.
Enoch teaches us that faithfulness isnât 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⌠thatâs 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 Friendânot employer, not judge, not just Saviorâbut Friend.
This week, ask yourself:
Am I walking with God, or just working for God? Where have I hidden out of shame, believing God wouldnât 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.
âCry aloud, do not hold back; raise your voice like a trumpet.â
âIsaiah 58:1 (NRSVUE)
We Were Never Meant to Be Silent
The world is on fireâagain.
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 werenât quiet.
They didnât just prayâthey provoked.
They didnât just fastâthey fought.
Protest is not outside the gospel. It is at the center of it.
What Stained Glass Really Means
Weâve been taught to see stained glass as something sacred because itâs beautiful.
But stained glass isnât sacred because itâs pretty.
Itâs 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 fragmentationâwhere wounds become windows.
So when you protest, create, cry out, or speak up, youâre not destroying anything sacred.
Youâre 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 childrenâwhat 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 wasnât enough.
And he wasnât 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 uncomfortableâyouâre in good company.
What We Build Now
Stained glass was once used to teach stories to people who couldnât read.
Maybe today, your protest visuals, reels, poetry, and digital murals are the new stained glass.
Maybe theyâre how we tell the truth in a world flooded with lies.
Maybe your creativity is prophetic architectureâresisting the empire with every brushstroke, lyric, and beat drop.
Donât let anyone tell you your vision is too much.
Donât shrink your voice for their comfort.
We need more light. Even if it shines through cracks.
This Is the Church Now
The sanctuary isnât always a building.
Sometimes itâs the subway car with protest flyers on the seats.
Sometimes itâs a block party.
Sometimes itâs a mural on a jail wall.
Wherever truth meets beauty and refuses to bowâthatâs Church.
Wherever your resistance becomes reflectionâthatâs sacred.
âBut you are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a peculiar peopleâŚâ
â1 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 didnât vanishâit 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 peopleâwe 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 todayâs world, the word âpriestâ 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 nowâthose who live between worlds. Between Babylon and Zion. Between grief and glory.
We are priests not because we wear collars, but because weâve survived captivity and still carry the name of the Lord in our bones.
Diaspora Doesnât Disqualify YouâIt Ordains You
God didnât wait for us to return to the âpromised landâ to call us. God called us in Babylon. Just like Ezekiel received visions by the rivers of captivity. Just like Daniel led in the kingâs 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 donât 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.
đď¸ Read, reflect, and share.
đ¨ Engage with this weekâs visuals on Instagram @thestainedglasscollective.
đ Join us next week for âStained Glass as Protest.â
đĽ Thereâs a place between bondage and promise.
A space between Babylon and Zion.
Between empire and kingdom.
Between who we were and who we must become.
That place is the wilderness.
It is not punishment.
It is preparation.
It is not exile.
It is encounter.
đď¸ The Wilderness is Where God Judges and Forms His People
âI will bring you into the wilderness of the nations, and there, face to face, I will execute judgment upon you.â
â Ezekiel 20:35â36
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.
Itâs where God calls His people outânot just physically, but spiritually.
Out of survival mode.
Out of empire logic.
Out of borrowed theology.
Here, the remnant is refinedânot erased.
đŤ 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 hereâfacing generational strongholds and prophetic destiny.
The wilderness isnât a detour. Itâs the curriculum of freedom.
âđž The Diaspora is in a Wilderness Moment
We know who weâre notâbut not yet who we are.
We are deconstructing, detangling, detoxing.
Weâre 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 lostâwe are being led.
đ§ The Wilderness is Where the Covenant is Renewed
âSo 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.â
â Ezekiel 20:35â37
This wilderness is where God renames us.
Reclaims us.
Re-covenants us.
Itâs where we stop being âminoritiesâ and start being priests.
Where we stop performing and start remembering.
Where the scattered become sacred again.
đ 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.
đŻď¸ Keep Walking
If you are wearyâwalk.
If you are unsureâwalk.
If you are not who you used to be, but not yet who you hope to beâwalk.
The wilderness is not your final form.
Itâs your proving ground.
Zion still waits.
And every step you take is stained glass in motion.
đ Read the first post: Babylon Isnât a City, Itâs 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.
đĽ Come Out of Her, My People
Babylon is not just a placeâitâs a pattern.
Itâs not just ancientâitâs alive.
And if youâre only looking for it on a map,
youâll miss the fact that youâre already in it.
When Revelation declares, âCome out of her, my peopleâ (Rev. 18:4),
itâs not simply about geography.
Itâs about spiritual separation from systems that exploit, erase, and enslave.
đď¸ 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.
đ Babylon Now
But Babylon never diedâit 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:
âBow to this image, or burn.â (Daniel 3)
âđž The Diaspora Is Not HomeâItâs Holding Ground
We are the scattered.
The descendants of a stolen people.
And just like our ancestors in exile,
weâve been told to blend in and shut up.
But the call still echoes through time:
âFlee from Babylon! Run for your lives!â â Jeremiah 51:6
This doesnât 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.
đ Toward Zion
Zion is not a megachurch.
Itâs not an aesthetic.
Itâs not nationalism.
Zion is the kingdom of God breaking through the cracks.
Itâs justice in motion.
Joy uncolonized.
Covenant unbroken.
We are on our way there.
But to enter Zion, we have to leave Babylon behind.
đ¨ 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 Babylonâs spell.
đŻď¸ Are You Still in Babylon?
Ask yourself:
Who profits from your silence? What idols have you bowed to? Are you building Zionâor renting Babylonâs stage?
You donât have to stay.
Babylon isnât a cityâitâs a system.
And systems collapse when the truth refuses to cooperate.
From exile to expressionâhe 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.
đď¸ 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 tensionâ
between what has been broken and what still burns with light.
We are a digital community of faith, color, culture, and callingâ
refusing to let theology remain cold, distant, or colonized.
đ Diaspora Is Not Defeat
We believe the African Diaspora is not forgottenâit is chosen.
We carry the story of Israel, exiled but not erased.
Our suffering is not senseless.
Our memory is not myth.
We are Godâs remnant, awakening in the wilderness of empire.
đ We Read Scripture Through Cracked Glass
This Collective is not just about artâit 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 glassâ
reflecting divine light through our pain, beauty, and Blackness.
đ¨ 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 remnantâBlack and non-Blackâwho are tired of Babylonâs lies
and ready to walk toward Zion.
đĽ The Second Exodus Is Underway
This is not just a movement. Itâs a migration.
Out of oppression.
Out of whitewashed faith.
Out of performative religion.
Into covenant.
Into community.
Into Kingdom.
We believe in the Second Exodusâa spiritual deliverance
for Godâs people scattered in every nation,
a priesthood reborn from ashes,
a church without walls,
a God who still sets captives free.
đŻď¸ This Is Your Invitation
If youâre wanderingâwe welcome you.
If youâre awakeningâwe walk with you.
If youâre willingâwe work beside you.
The stained glass isnât finished.
We are still piecing it together.
Each voice, each story, each scriptureâ
makes the mosaic more radiant.
đ Join Us.
Follow us on instagram @thestainedglasscollective for visual theology and prophetic infographics.
The Stained Glass Collective 