Conrad Rocks | Spiritual Warfare, Supernatural Faith & Kingdom Living

Have you ever told a lie with good intentions? Maybe you stretched the truth to protect someone, or maybe you bent the facts to spare another person's feelings. If you have, you are not alone. But here is the question that shook me to my core this morning: what does God actually think about that? I woke up this morning with a stirring in my spirit. I did not have a plan for what to talk about today on Coffee with Conrad. I did not have a bullet point list or a carefully crafted outline waiting in my notebook. What I had was a prayer and an open heart. I started seeking the Lord, asking Him to show me what He wanted me to share with you today. And you know what He did? He gave me three examples from the Bible of people who lied with good intentions. Now stay with me here because this may blow you away. When the Spirit Led Me to Lying As I was praying, the phrase "lying with good intentions" came into my mind, and I started following it like a thread. The Spirit and the Wor...

  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...