This is not intended to be prophetic and it's not adding to scripture. It is my Faithwriter's Weekly challenge entry for "Expect". Having said it's not prophetic, that doesn't mean to say God's truth isn't in there somewhere.
To the angel of the church in the Highlands of Scotland write:
These are the words of Him who walks among the wooded glens and wades through streams of crystal water. He is the one who shaped the mountains and let loose the eagles to soar among their mighty peaks.
I know your deeds. I see the churches you build, with red stones and tall steeples. I hear the music you compose and see hands lifted up in worship. I weigh the words of your preachers and your pastors. I know that some of you wage war with the works of the enemy. You open your kitchens to feed those who are hungry. You take your healing ministries into the town centres to pray for those who are sick. You send your street pastors into the dark corners to seek out and serve the homeless. I know that you have done much to tear down barriers and demolish strongholds. You work together in a spirit of unity, erasing the lines denominations have drawn.
Yet I hold this against you; You have allowed your tongue to stick to the roof of your mouth and swallowed the words I have given you to speak. You have watched unrighteousness unfold and remained silent. Your own comfort and wealth has cushioned you from the sharp needles and piercing thorns that injure my people. You assign blame to the blameless, stifle your compassion and help only the deserving poor.
Your churches that once were training grounds for equipping the saints and sending them into a crying world have become nothing more than orphanages. You feed a hundred, or two or perhaps even a thousand on warm milk. You keep them comfortable and secure, assuring them of My love. But they remain unchallenged and immature.
Consider how little you expect Me to do in you, and through you, among you and with you. You have relegated me to the back of the boat and allowed me to sleep. You weather the storms and don’t beg Me to still the wind and the waves. You don’t walk on water, but must always have the pavement beneath your feet. You deny yourself the chance to sink and grab hold of my hand. Your boat is pulled up on shore. You don’t see me pass by, or hear me say “Come.”
You, my world changers, have remained largely unchanged, and as such, have not been able to change the world. And yet you wonder why your churches become empty.
Whoever has ears let them hear. To the one who looks beyond the seen and expects the unseen I pour the miraculous into their lives. They will not sleep undisturbed in their pews, but come and walk on water with me.