Conrad Rocks | Spiritual Warfare, Supernatural Faith & Kingdom Living

  Imagine you are walking down a dark, narrow alleyway in the sixteenth century. There are no streetlights here. There are no security cameras watching from the corners. You are in Antwerp, or maybe a damp, foggy river port in London, and the only light comes from the moon reflecting off the wet cobblestones. The air smells of cold wood smoke, unwashed wool, and the brackish, heavy scent of the river. You are absolutely terrified. Your heart is hammering against your ribs because you are hiding something—something that, in the eyes of the law, is far worse than a weapon or a state secret. It’s a book. A small, simple, leather-bound book tucked into the lining of your coat. And here is the part that is so hard for us to wrap our heads around today: if the authorities find this book on you, you aren’t just getting a fine. You aren't just going to jail for a few months. No, if we are talking about the era of the 1520s and 30s, you are going to be tied to a post in the middle of the ...

  I want you to visualize a scene. It is incredibly specific, and honestly, it is one of the most haunting moments in all of English history. Imagine the winter of 1428. The air is biting, the kind of cold that settles deep in your marrow. We are in Lutterworth, a small market town in Leicestershire. We’re standing in a graveyard—consecrated ground, the kind of place that is supposed to be a sanctuary of eternal rest. But on this particular day, it looks more like a construction site. There is a team of laborers with shovels digging into the frozen earth. Standing over them is a whole retinue of high-ranking church officials. Bishop Fleming is there, presiding over the operation, his eyes fixed on the dirt. They aren't digging a fresh grave, though. They are opening an old one. They are looking for a specific skeleton, a man who has been dead for 44 years. That is nearly two generations. By this point, the flesh is long gone, and the wooden coffin has probably rotted away into not...

Introduction: More Than Just History Friends, I want to talk about something that shakes me to my core every time I study it. We all know about the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. We read about it in history books. We know the Roman legions under Titus came in, tore the city apart, and burned the magnificent Temple of Herod to the ground. It was a military, political, and cultural cataclysm that changed the world forever. It was brutal, a time of starvation, slaughter, and unimaginable horror. But what most of the history books won't tell you is what happened before the first Roman soldier ever set foot near the wall. This wasn't just a military conquest. This was a prophetic and supernatural event. This was a judgment, foretold in chilling detail, and it was preceded by warnings so clear, so loud, and so terrifying that they were recorded not just by the Jewish people, but by their Roman conquerors. You see, God does not bring judgment without warning. ...

Discernment Over Prophetic Hype I remember sitting in a room with a woman who was a psychic. She charged a lot of money for her sessions, and famous people would quietly come to her for readings. There wasn't a smell of incense, but there was a power—a spirit—that was just coursing through my soul. I was writhing. I couldn't... I don't know how to explain it, but there was this energy coming through my solar plexus. It was like she was sucking information out of my soul. She started rattling off names of my relatives and friends—names she couldn't possibly have known—and details about my past and about my friends that made the hair on my arms stand up. At the time, I thought it was a "gift." I thought I was touching the divine. She told me things about my past that were so specific I felt naked before her. I remember the rush of adrenaline, that sense of being "known" by the universe. I was hooked. I wanted more of that feeling, more of that secret ...