The Love That Warns and Saves

How deep the Father's love for us,

How vast beyond all measure

That He should give His only Son

To make a wretch His treasure

Prophecy begins and ends with Jesus. Every page of Scripture, every fulfilled word, every warning to watch—flows from this incomprehensible truth: the Father gave His Son for us. Before we sound the alarm, we must remember the heart behind it. The gospel is not secondary to prophecy—it is the foundation. God didn’t send charts and timelines to save us. He sent His Son.

The depth of the Father’s love isn’t measured in signs but in sacrifice. That a holy God would make a wretch His treasure is the greatest marvel in all of redemptive history. As we analyze global trends and the rise of the beast system, we do so as those bought by blood, not swayed by fear. This love is our compass. This love is our why.

How great the pain of searing loss,

The Father turns His face away

As wounds which mar the Chosen One,

Bring many sons to glory

The cross was not a sanitized symbol of religion. It was agony—prophetically foretold and cosmically consequential. The pain of separation, the turning away of the Father’s face—this was the cost of our redemption. Isaiah 53:5 declares, “He was wounded for our transgressions… and by His stripes we are healed.”

In the chaos of unfolding prophecy, we must not lose the wonder of that exchange. Those wounds—inflicted under Rome’s rule but orchestrated in eternity—purchased glory for many. When Jesus returns, He’s not coming as a suffering servant, but as King. Yet it was His first coming, His willing sacrifice, that made us sons and daughters of glory.

Behold the Man upon a cross,

My sin upon His shoulders

Ashamed I hear my mocking voice,

Call out among the scoffers

In a world mocking God more openly by the hour, we must remember—we were once the mockers. Romans 5:8 reminds us that “while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” The shame of our rebellion was not just cultural—it was personal. Our sin was not an abstract force; it was a burden that He bore on His back.

As scoffers increase in these last days (2 Peter 3:3), let us not be discouraged. We were them. And yet He died for us. The prophetic clock is ticking, but there is still time to reach the scoffer with the gospel. The same mercy extended to us can still rescue those hardened by pride and rebellion. That’s why we speak. That’s why we warn. That’s why we watch.

It was my sin that held Him there

Until it was accomplished

His dying breath has brought me life

I know that it is finished

“It is finished.” Three words that shattered hell’s hold and sealed the fate of the enemy. Prophecy is not about guesswork—it’s about God’s work, accomplished at the cross. Every end-times event finds its purpose in this moment. The wrath to come is not random. It’s righteous. And the offer to escape it is rooted in the work that is already done.

We don’t prepare for the rapture with fear—we prepare with faith. Christ’s death was not the beginning of uncertainty, but the guarantee of victory. The price is paid. The blood has been shed. And His breath, given in death, now fills us with life. When the final trumpet sounds, we stand not in fear, but in the full assurance of that finished work.

Why should I gain from His reward?

I cannot give an answer

But this I know with all my heart

His wounds have paid my ransom

There is no room for pride in prophecy. No analyst deserves the insight. No redeemed sinner deserves the reward. And yet—here we are. Awaiting a crown we did not earn, anticipating a Kingdom we did not build, watching for a King we once rejected.

The deeper we go into the prophetic word, the more humbled we must become. Every page, every seal, every trumpet—points back to the Lamb who was slain. As Revelation 5 reveals, only He was worthy to open the scroll. Our reward isn’t something we boast in—it’s something we marvel at. The ransom was paid in wounds. The hope of our future was sealed in scars.

How Deep the Father’s Love - By Stuart Townsend

Stay Awake! Keep Watch!