Thunder and Rain
It doesn’t whisper. It detonates. A sentence like a smoking gun shoved into the reader’s face, hammer cocked. Words that don’t politely knock on the door of the mind—they kick it in. Boots stomping. Storms surging. Neurons sparking like power lines whipping in the rain. Truth isn’t a polite dinner guest—it’s a fist through the table, shattering glass, splattering blood, demanding attention. Thunder in the synapses. Lightning in the marrow. Fire in the sockets of the eyes. You don’t read it—you survive it.
So when Paul says all prophecy is for edification, consolation, and exhortation (1 Corinthians 14:3)… how do you square that with Jesus spitting fire, “You brood of vipers!”?
Sounds like a death sentence. Sounds like a burn without balm. But here’s the twist of the knife: it was edification. It wasconsolation. It was exhortation.
Because somewhere in the crowd of self-righteous robes, one man flinched. The Spirit cracked his chest open like thunder splits an oak. He started asking, “Wait—are we really a den of snakes? Is the hiss of Satan in our mouths?”
And that seed of terror sprouted into hunger. He searched the scrolls. He whispered prayers in the shadows. Until finally—he couldn’t help himself. He snuck through the night to Jesus.
Nicodemus. The Pharisee who couldn’t shake the truth. The man who dropped the bombshell confession: “We know you are from God. For no one can do the things you do unless God is with him.”
Did you catch it? Not I. We. Nic was the whistleblower of the Sanhedrin, the unintentional leaker of heaven’s biggest scandal. Behind the holy masks, the Pharisees knew. They just couldn’t say it.
So yes—the words cut like broken glass. But the cut bled a man straight into the arms of Christ. Sometimes comfort comes dressed like thunder. Sometimes consolation is a slap that wakes you up. Sometimes edification sounds like venom but heals like living water.