God Still Speaks
If the enemy can’t stop you from believing in God, he’ll settle for making you deaf to Him. And one of the cleverest ways he’s done that in the modern church is by convincing us that God doesn’t speak anymore — except in ink.
If the enemy can’t stop you from believing in God, he’ll settle for making you deaf to Him. And one of the cleverest ways he’s done that in the modern church is by convincing us that God doesn’t speak anymore — except in ink.
We, the pilgrims of the Narrow Way, do hereby covenant ourselves not to the constructs of men, but to the living Messiah—our Lord, our Rabbi, our King. We are drawn together by the Holy Spirit for one purpose: to worship God through our lives and self-sacrifice.
We are bound together not by denomination nor doctrine alone, but by the fire of love that flows from the heart of God and refines all who approach Him. We gather not for safety, but for sanctification—not to preserve comfort, but to confront the darkness within and without.
We form no hierarchy of pride or power. Rather, we walk side by side as those apprenticed to Jesus the Christ, learning not only His teachings, but His way of living.
This constitution is not a lawbook. It is a covenant of conscience—a flame passed from soul to soul—to shape a people after the likeness of the One who is love, justice, and truth. May it be ever held in humility, and never used to bind what Jesus the Christ has freed.
We believe the Holy Scriptures reveal God—described in part as Father, Son, and Spirit—one in essence, immeasurable in eternal relationship.
We exist not to entertain the found, but to seek the lost—not to accumulate followers, but to form disciples.
The church is not a refuge from the world; it is a refinery within it.
To be a member of this fellowship is not to join an organization, but to commit to a journey.
We welcome the broken, the doubting, the weary, and the seeking. All may come. But none may remain unchanged.
Leadership in this fellowship is not gained by title, but by testing. It is not a crown to wear, but a cross to bear.
Those who lead must first kneel.
All leadership is shared in plurality, discerned by the community, and accountable to both Spirit and Scripture.
No one rules. Jesus the Christ alone is King.
Our way of life is formed by sacred rhythm, not religious routine.
We gather in homes, under trees, in sanctuaries or sheds. The place matters not—the Presence does.
The conscience of a man is sacred. Let no institution—church or state—compel belief or quench the fire of individual conviction.
Let every member be exhorted:
“Without virtue, there can be no liberty—and without religion, no virtue.” – Benjamin Rush
We do not cast stones. But we do call one another to the fire.
When a member walks astray, we respond not with judgment, but with tears—and truth. Correction is not exile, but invitation.
If discipline is necessary, it shall be done:
Even in separation, the door remains open.
This constitution may only be revised by:
It shall never be used to enshrine comfort or to silence conscience. Where it hinders the Kingdom, it must be cast into the fire.
“The Church is not made of those who agree, but those who forgive.”
“We are not safe, but we are good. We walk further up and further in.”
“Our God is a consuming fire—and yet, He is Love.”
May this fellowship be known not by its structure, but by its fire, its truth, and its love.
In the earliest days of Christianity, there was no Bible.
The Old Testament existed in part—but most people didn’t own it, and few could read it. The New Testament hadn’t been written or collected yet. What we now call “Scripture” usually referred to select writings of the Hebrew Bible: the Law, the Prophets, and the Psalms.
Paul’s letters? The Gospels? Revelation?
Those came later—and weren’t seen as “Scripture” at first.
So how did the Gospel spread?
Through the Holy Spirit—not printed words.
Through living testimony—Spirit-filled men and women who preached, healed, suffered, and loved in Jesus’ name.
Yes, the Bible is a priceless gift.
But the church wasn’t born from a book.
It was born from the Breath of God.
And that same Spirit still speaks today.
He is no Fool –
Who gives what he cannot keep
To gain what he cannot loose
Melchizedek appears suddenly in Genesis 14 as “king of Salem” and “priest of God Most High.” He blesses Abraham and offers him bread and wine. In return, Abraham gives him a tenth of everything. Mysterious, right? But Jewish and early Christian tradition offers a clear and compelling explanation: Melchizedek was actually Shem, the son of Noah.
According to Genesis, Noah lived 950 years and Shem 600. Abraham was born while both were still alive. Ancient sources like the Book of Jasher say Abraham lived with Noah and Shem for 39 years—learning directly from the men who had walked with God before the flood. These weren’t distant patriarchs—they were living mentors. Especially Shem, who became both a spiritual father and priestly figure in Abraham’s life.
Long before the Levitical priesthood, Scripture shows a sacred line of priest-kings or prince-priests—righteous men who carried spiritual authority in their generation. The line goes: Adam → Seth → Enoch → Noah → Shem → Abraham. Each served as a kind of royal priest—walking with God, leading their families, and preserving divine knowledge.
In Genesis 14, Shem (as Melchizedek) publicly affirms Abraham as the next in this line, both by blessing him and receiving his tithe. It’s a transfer of spiritual legacy.
Abraham didn’t discover faith on his own. He inherited it. He was shaped by the firsthand testimonies of men like Noah—who had seen the world destroyed and remade by God’s word. Shem would’ve told stories passed directly down from Adam. There are only a few generational jumps between Adam and Abraham, and the knowledge of God wasn’t secondhand—it was fresh, lived, and trusted.
Abraham’s radical faith was birthed in a family culture that had walked with God for centuries.
It’s not just plausible that these patriarchs knew each other—history and culture confirm it. While many descendants scattered or turned to other gods, the righteous line stayed together. They lived as extended families—sharing not just land, but memory, instruction, and sacred tradition.
Adam lived long enough to know Lamech, the father of Noah. Imagine Lamech sitting at Adam’s feet, hearing about Eden, the fall, and the mercy of God—directly from the man formed from dust. That kind of intimate, generational storytelling created a stronghold of faith that shaped everything that followed.
The story of God was not forgotten—it was lived and passed down.
Hebrews 7 describes Melchizedek as “without father or mother, without genealogy.” To modern Western readers, that sounds supernatural. But Jewish readers—especially in the first century—understood it differently. Genesis intentionally omits Melchizedek’s lineage, not because he had none, but to portray his priesthood as outside of tribal law.
This silence is symbolic—it sets up Melchizedek as a type of Christ, whose priesthood also isn’t based on ancestry, but divine appointment.
First-century Jews—even today’s Orthodox Jews—would not hesitate to identify Melchizedek as Shem. That connection was assumed. But many modern Christians, shaped by Western logic, struggle with metaphors and multi-layered identities.
Eastern thought had no problem seeing Melchizedek as both Shem and a prophetic symbol of Christ. Scripture often does this—one figure can hold multiple meanings without contradiction.
Melchizedek was Shem—the living patriarch, priest, and mentor who carried the knowledge of God from the world before the flood into the world after. In blessing Abraham, Shem passed on the mantle of spiritual authority—a line of priest-princes that began with Adam and continued through Seth, Enoch, Noah, and now Abraham.
This moment wasn’t random. It was the sacred continuation of a legacy. Abraham’s bold faith didn’t come out of nowhere—it was forged through decades of discipleship under men who had walked with God face to face.
And centuries later, the book of Hebrews would reveal that this priesthood, outside the line of Levi, was always pointing forward—to Christ, the true and eternal priest in the order of Melchizedek.
Melchizedek’s brief biblical appearance (Genesis 14:18–20) has generated rich exegetical discussion. Identified as “king of Salem” and “priest of God Most High,” he blesses Abraham and receives tithes—yet his origins remain unrecorded. This paper explores the traditional identification of Melchizedek with Shem, son of Noah, through biblical, rabbinic, historical, and cultural evidence.
Using traditional chronologies (e.g., Ussher), lifespans overlapped: Noah lived from ~2948 to 1998 BCE, Shem from ~2446 to 1846 BCE, and Abraham was born ~1948 BCE. Abraham’s early years—292 years after the flood—overlapped with Noah’s last 58 years and Shem’s remaining ~500 years (weareisrael.org, sacred-texts.com).
These patriarchs lived in extended family structures. Adam lived long enough to know Lamech, father of Noah, allowing for a continuous oral transmission of God’s story. Lamech may have heard about Eden from Adam himself. Abraham inherited this preserved memory, living with Noah and Shem during his formative years.
Before the Law of Moses, the Bible portrays a sacred priest-prince lineage: Adam → Seth → Enoch → Noah → Shem → Abraham. These men were entrusted with divine revelation and leadership. In Genesis 14, Melchizedek (Shem) blesses Abraham and receives tithes, transferring that priestly role.
Abraham didn’t invent faith—he received it through men like Noah and Shem. These were not mythological figures but living witnesses of God’s power and mercy. The line of faith was a lived tradition—one generation declaring God’s works to the next. Books like Jasher and Jubilees emphasize this multi-generational faith transmission.
Hebrews 7 uses the absence of Melchizedek’s genealogy in Genesis as a literary device—not a literal statement that he had no parents. Ancient readers understood this technique. The omission helps portray Melchizedek as a priest “outside the law,” like Christ. But the rabbis never doubted he was Shem.
Hebrews presents Melchizedek typologically. Jewish Christians familiar with tradition would have recognized Melchizedek as Shem and simultaneously seen him as a prophetic shadow of Christ—whose priesthood did not arise from Levi, but from divine appointment.
Some suggest Melchizedek was an angel or pre-incarnate Christ. These interpretations arise mostly from modern Western theological traditions unfamiliar with Jewish oral culture. The Hebrew model allows layered identities. Melchizedek was a historical figure (Shem) and a prophetic symbol (Christ-like priest).
Melchizedek was Shem—patriarch, priest, and king. He carried the divine testimony from the world before the flood and passed it to Abraham. This was no isolated moment. It was a sacred handoff within a royal priesthood stretching back to Eden and forward to Christ. The priesthood of Melchizedek, as fulfilled in Jesus, is not disconnected from history—it is built upon it.