Whispers Through Time
We are living in a moment that has been whispered through centuries, etched into scripture, sung through mystic poetry, and carried in the bones of prophets and dreamers. This unraveling—this sacred disruption—was foretold.
Not in the language of fear, but in the language of awakening:
The Book of Revelation speaks of upheaval and unveiling. The Hopi elders warned of a time when the Earth would shake and hearts would be tested. Jesus spoke of wars and rumors of wars—not as punishment, but as birth pangs.
Mystics like Julian of Norwich and Hildegard of Bingen saw visions of collapse and renewal. Modern prophets—from Carl Jung to Thomas Merton—named the ego’s reckoning and the soul’s return.
This is not the end.
It is the turning point.
When illusion begins to crumble,
and the Heart begins to rise.
Sacred Timing, Not Panic
Prophecy is not meant to panic.
It’s meant to prepare the soul.
To remind us that what feels chaotic
may actually be sacred timing.
That what looks like collapse
may be the beginning of clarity.
Divine timing rarely aligns
with our calendars.
It moves in spirals, not schedules.
It waits until the illusion is
thin enough to tear,
until the Heart is ready to rise.
We are not here by accident.
We were born for this moment—
not to fix it,
but to face it.
To walk through it with mercy,
with discernment,
with quiet courage.
Yet even as divine timing unfolds,
we witness not only prophecy—
but also contrast.
The kind that leads to discernment.
Contrast as Invitation
In times of great upheaval, certain figures rise to prominence who seem to embody the ego in its purest form—loud, divisive, self-serving. They offer us contrast, not because they are evil, but because they are visible.
And in that visibility, we are given a gift: the chance to see clearly, by contrast, what Christ is not. To see, by negation, Christ’s quiet mercy, radical humility, and healing presence.
These figures are not the enemy.
They are a mirror.
And in their reflection,
we are invited to choose again.
To appreciate the gift
we must look deeper—
not just at the figures on the stage,
but at the suffering beneath the performance.
The Mirror, Not the Enemy
Not all who inflict harm are evil.
Some are mentally unwell.
Some are spiritually unwell.
Some are driven insane by ego
and suffering far more than we can see.
A leader’s spiritual or mental unwellness
can be more than just personal—
but also cultural.
It can mirror what has been buried,
denied, or glamorized in society.
When ego rises to power,
it does not invent the illusion.
It reveals it.
It amplifies what we’ve refused to name.
And in that amplification,
we are given a chance—
not to scapegoat, but to see.
To recognize the shadow
not just in the leader,
but in the culture that created the stage.
When ego reigns unchecked,
suffering multiplies.
And when suffering holds power,
it leaves a trail.
Ego’s Tyranny, Mercy’s Clarity
Ego, when enthroned, becomes a tyrant.
It fears collapse, so it clings to control.
It mistakes domination for safety.
And when such suffering holds power,
it spreads suffering like wildfire.
But the Heart sees through the illusion.
It does not excuse the harm.
It does not deny the damage.
But it understands the source:
a soul lost in fear,
a mind drowning in illusion,
a being severed from mercy.
Seeing clearly is only the beginning.
The Heart must respond—
not with fear,
but with mercy.
Not with mimicry,
but with courage.
Quiet Courage in a Loud World
Mercy does not mean passivity.
It does not mean silence
in the face of harm.
The Heart sees clearly—
and still chooses love.
It names the suffering,
but refuses to become it.
It discerns the illusion,
but does not mirror its cruelty.
This is the quiet courage
we’re being called into.
To see what’s real.
To speak with mercy.
To act with love—
even when the world is loud with fear.
This courage is not just personal—
it is prophetic.
It is the kind of leadership
the world is aching for,
even if it doesn’t yet know how to ask.
True Leadership in the Age of Spectacle
In a time when ego dominates the stage,
true leadership looks like quiet resistance.
It looks like refusing to mirror the tactics
of those who distort the truth.
It looks like choosing
the long road of integrity
over the shortcut of spectacle.
True leaders must lead—
not by shouting louder,
but by standing firmer.
By having the courage
to lead without becoming
the corruption they oppose.
This is the path of the Heart.
It does not perform.
It does not posture.
It does not seek applause.
It seeks alignment.
It seeks mercy.
It seeks truth.
But even the most courageous leaders
must learn to wait.
To listen.
To trust the rhythm that does not rush,
but reveals.
The Rhythm of Divine Timing
This kind of leadership cannot be rushed.
It listens for the right moment.
It waits for the Spirit’s nudge.
It does not react—it responds.
Because divine timing is not reactive.
It is rhythmic.
It is wise.
The Heart knows when to speak,
when to move.
when to wait,
It does not seek control.
It seeks alignment.
And when the moment arrives—
when the veil thins
and the illusion cracks—
the Heart does not scramble.
It simply steps forward.
Not because it planned,
but because it was prepared.
Prepared, Not Planned
So if the world feels upside down,
if the headlines echo Revelations,
if the ego seems louder than love—
remember: this was foretold.
Not to frighten you,
but to prepare you.
You are not behind.
You are not late.
You are arriving—
right on time.
Divine timing is not just cosmic.
It’s intimate.
It’s personal.
It’s the whisper that says,
“Wait.”
“Speak.”
“Begin.”
The Heart knows.
Even when the mind doubts.
Even when the path disappears.
Even when the world is loud with fear.
So trust the rhythm.
Trust the pause.
Trust the rising.
You were born for this moment.
And the moment is ready for you.
A Blessing for the Turning
May you trust the rhythm
of your own becoming.
May you listen for the compass,
even when the map disappears.
May you speak when the Spirit nudges,
and rest when the Heart says, “Not yet.”
You were not meant to rush.
You were meant to rise.
In mercy.
In truth.
In divine time.
Next Post: Navigating the Fog
Rev. Joan M. Kistler 