THE VISION
I received this vision sometime in the early morning hours, between 2002 and 2005. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced—so vivid, so unsettling, that it has stayed with me all these years.
In the vision, I was at what appeared to be a massive church convention or celebration, held inside a large sports arena. The atmosphere was electric with worship. On a raised stage to the right side of the arena stood renowned bishops, elders, pastors, and ministers—leaders of the faith. Before them, a sea of saints filled the arena: believers in the seats on the main floor and in the upper sections that curved around the stage in a great U-shape. Hands were lifted high. Songs of praise thundered like waves. At first, it felt like a holy gathering.
But then something strange began to happen. One of the saints on the floor started to praise God in a manner that felt off—strange, unnatural, even demonic. It was reminiscent of a scene from the old 1950s Sodom and Gomorrah film, when the people of the city performed that dark, frenzied dance. That was the exact image the moment evoked: worship that had been twisted into something profane.
As time went on, more and more joined in—first individuals from the congregation, then even those on stage: bishops, elders, pastors, ministers. Soon the main floor was a sea of bodies moving in that same bizarre rhythm. Only small groups of us, scattered in the stands, remained separate. I found myself in one of those groups. We stared in disbelief at what was unfolding.“
Don’t they know?” people whispered around me. “Don’t they see that God is not pleased with this?” Fear began to ripple through those of us who had stayed behind. I tried to steady my own heart and theirs. “Don’t worry,” I told them quietly. “God will take care of us.”
Yet the frenzy in the center only grew. Then the arena began to shake. From the foundation to the rafters, the entire structure rumbled as though the earth itself were groaning. Dust trembled down from the beams. But those on the floor were so lost in their strange dance they didn’t even notice the shaking or the deafening rumble filling the air.
Once again the fearful voices rose around me. “Don’t they know God is not pleased?” I repeated my assurance: “God will take care of us. Do not be afraid.”
Suddenly the arena began to descend—as though it were on some enormous lift—sinking slowly into the earth. The walls trembled. A low moan rose from beneath. At that very moment, the giant screen hanging above the floor flickered to life. Until then it had been dark, but now it blazed with an image that chilled me to the bone: the figure of the Death Angel. Only his upper body was visible. He wore a hooded black garment and held a sickle in his right hand. And still, those on the floor did not see it. They kept dancing, oblivious.
By this time, those who had been on the arena floor were now high up on the catwalk that circled the arena’s interior. They formed what looked like a living wall—bodies meshed together, moving in perfect unison, arms swinging as they marched counterclockwise above us. (Years later, in 2013, the meaning of this part of the vision was revealed to me: the profane in the church, both leadership and laity, starting small within the house of God but one day being exalted above the true church—in churches and in the secular media around the world.)
And yet, even here, they remained caught up in their ritual, blind to the descent taking place beneath them. We in the stands looked up at them with growing dread. “Don’t they know God is not pleased?” the question circled again and again. And still I tried to reassure those around me. “God will take care of us,” I whispered. “
Do not be afraid.”The descent went on and on, deeper and deeper, until at last the arena hit bottom with a jolt. Anxiety weighed heavily upon us few who remained in the stands. Then, after a short silence, a pair of massive doors opened. A blinding light poured in.
Two huge men—angels—entered the arena. Their presence filled the space with power and awe. They began to usher the people out, calling both those who had stayed in the stands and those now on the catwalk. Each person was guided toward one of two doors—left or right.
When I approached, the angel pointed to his right, which was my left. I obeyed, stepping through the doorway. On the other side, I found myself in what looked like a great choir stand, standing in the presence of the Most High God. Joy welled up inside me, overflowing. Tears streamed down my face as I lifted my hands, repeating over and over: “I made it. I made it.”
The Revelation
When I awoke from the vision, my spirit was heavy. The images burned in my mind like fire upon stone—unshakable, vivid, divine. For days I could not speak of it. I knew this was not a dream born of my own imagination, but a revelation from God, warning of what was and what was yet to come.
In time, the Holy Spirit began to give understanding. Piece by piece, the meaning of what I had seen unfolded before me.
The arena represented the house of God—the gathering place of the saints, the visible church upon the earth. The service was grand, full of sound, praise, and the appearance of worship. Yet beneath the noise and movement, there was something deeply wrong. The people rejoiced with their lips, but their hearts were far from God.
The stage, where the bishops, elders, pastors, and ministers stood, symbolized spiritual leadership—those who had been entrusted to guide the flock. Yet even they were drawn into the strange, unholy dance. The Spirit revealed that a time would come when many in leadership would lose discernment, exchanging true worship for entertainment, holiness for popularity, and anointing for performance. The sacred would become common, and the holy would be treated as a show.
The strange dance represented the corruption of worship in the last days—the mingling of light with darkness. What began with one spread through the entire congregation, showing how quickly compromise infects the body when it is tolerated by those in authority. It was not just a dance of the body; it was the dance of deception, the worship of flesh, the imitation of the world under the disguise of praise.
The shaking of the arena was the shaking of the church itself. The Spirit said, “Everything that can be shaken will be shaken, that only what is of Me may remain.” It was the judgment of God beginning at the house of God. The shaking was a call to awaken those who still had ears to hear. But those who had given themselves to deception did not even notice; they were too consumed by their false worship to sense the trembling beneath their feet.
The descent of the arena symbolized the spiritual fall of the church that turns away from truth. Slowly, without realizing it, they were sinking into the earth—into worldliness, compromise, and spiritual death. Yet even as the house descended, a remnant remained in the stands—those who watched, prayed, and refused to join in the corruption. Though fear gripped them, the Lord was their refuge.
Then came the image on the great screen—the Death Angel, holding the sickle. The Spirit made it clear: this was a sign of coming judgment. The harvest was near. The sickle would separate the living from the dead, the pure from the profane, the wheat from the tares. Those caught up in false worship were blind to the warning, their eyes fixed on themselves, their spirits dulled to conviction.
Years later, the Lord revealed the meaning of the catwalk and the wall of bodies moving above the true worshipers. The profane would rise, being exalted in the eyes of the world and even within the church. They would dominate pulpits, platforms, and media, praised as voices of faith while walking in disobedience to God. Their unity would be strong, but it would be built upon rebellion, not righteousness. They would circle above the true church, gaining worldly power and recognition, but their end would be destruction.
The descent into the earth ended when the arena reached the bottom—a sign that the falling away would reach its full measure. Then came the opening of the doors and the arrival of the two angels, mighty in strength and radiant in light. This was the moment of divine separation—the judgment of the house of God. Each soul was led to one of two doors: left or right, salvation or separation, acceptance or rejection.
When I was led through the right-hand door and found myself before the throne of God, I understood the mercy in the vision. Even in judgment, God was preserving a remnant. The fear, the shaking, the descent—all were meant to awaken and purify those who would hear His voice. And when I cried out, “I made it, I made it,” it was not pride—it was gratitude. Gratitude for mercy. Gratitude for truth. Gratitude for being kept when others fell away.
The Lord spoke clearly:“
Tell My people, I am shaking the house. I am exposing what has been hidden. The time of mixed worship is ending. Those who worship Me must do so in spirit and in truth. Come out from among them and be separate, says the Lord. Touch not the unclean thing, and I will receive you.”
From that day forward, I knew the vision was not merely for me, but for the Body of Christ. It was both warning and promise—judgment and mercy intertwined. The shaking has already begun. The descent has already started. But so has the call to come out and be made ready.
Your Servant In Christ, Pastor Mel