🌳 My Journey of Faith

From Reformed Roots to the Latter Rains and the Fig Tree’s Awakening

Just this past summer of 2025, during a two-week visit at my brother’s home and church in the sun-kissed embrace of Orange County, California, our family set out on an epic road trip winding through Sequoia National Park and culminating in the majestic grandeur of Yosemite. Standing dwarfed beside the ancient, towering sequoia trees and gazing upon Yosemite’s awe-inspiring vistas of granite cliffs, I felt the vastness of creation whispering truths about the Creator who formed it all. Afterwards, we returned to my brother’s vibrant church community, a remarkable gathering led by a team of pastors whose faces bore the gentle etchings of their sacred calling, approaching the pulpit with a reverence that made every word from Scripture feel like living water. In that blend of wilderness wonder and worshipful fellowship, long-dormant memories stirred within me, drawing me back to the roots of my faith. How, I wondered, has my grasp of God’s unfolding story evolved since that earnest prayer in 2017, a humble cry for light in the midst of shadows? 

In these pages, I hope to trace a bit of that journey—not as a boast, but as an invitation to reflect on our shared pilgrimage through the shifting sands of theology and history. Might there be room in your heart to walk this path with me, pondering the gentle ways God reshapes us over time?

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Growing up in the ultra-conservative Korean Presbyterian church, I was immersed in a world of rigorous doctrine and unswerving devotion. The services were solemn symphonies of hymnody and exposition, where every verse was weighed like gold. Later, during my university days at Cambridge, I found a kindred spirit in the Cambridge Presbyterian Church, a bastion of intellectual and spiritual rigour that left me quietly proud of my “Reformed” heritage. It was a theology that felt like an anchor in stormy seas—solid, systematic, and steeped in the giants of the past. But what exactly does “Reformed” mean in this context? Narrowly, it’s often boiled down to Calvinism’s five points, those TULIP petals of total depravity, unconditional election, limited atonement, irresistible grace, and perseverance of the saints. Yet, as I’ve come to see it, there’s something deeper: a justifiable confidence, perhaps even a holy tenacity, in being the church that has refused to compromise with the world, especially over the turbulent last century. Isn’t it remarkable how such fidelity can both steady us and, if we’re not careful, subtly enclose us?

Consider the world of the past hundred years—a whirlwind of forces that have reshaped everything from our homes to our hearts. We’ve seen the rise of feminism, humanism, liberal-leftist socialism, rampant individualism, and cultural Marxism, manifesting in movements like political correctness, critical theory, critical race theory, the “woke” ethos, the sexual revolution, and the LGBTQ+ agenda. These tides have flooded mainstream academia—yes, even seminaries and theological institutions—along with industries, media, and culture at large, all under the banner of equity and a postwar consensus that often prioritises human approval over divine truth. And who, one might ask, stands as the architect behind this grand perversion? The Scriptures are clear: it is Satan himself, the great deceiver, working through willing human vessels to twist God’s good creation.

“We know that we are children of God, and that the whole world is under the control of the evil one.”

1 John 5:19, KJV

In light of this, doesn’t the ultra-conservative Reformed wing of the church have every reason for that sense of steadfast assurance? While much of mainstream Christianity has chased the fleeting applause of the world—watering down convictions on sexuality, church governance, the origins of life, the created order, marriage, yes, even the penal substitutionary atonement of the Cross!—these faithful ones have stood firm, clutching God’s unchanging Word like a lifeline. Praise God for such guardians of truth; their witness has preserved a pure stream amid polluted waters.

Yet, even as we honour that stand, might we gently inquire if it’s wholly unscarred by the world’s drift? I think of something as seemingly small as the practice of women wearing head coverings in public worship, a custom drawn straight from 1 Corinthians 11. For centuries—right up until the turn of 20th century, long before cultural shifts accelerated in the 1960s and 1970s—even the “liberal” churches observed this as a symbol of order and submission.

“But every woman who prays or prophesies with her head uncovered dishonours her head, for that is one and the same as if her head were shaved.”

1 Corinthians 11:5, NKJV

Today, though? It’s vanished from nearly every sanctuary, ultra-conservative included. I’m not here to accuse hypocrisy—far from it; we’re all swimmers in the same cultural current. But doesn’t this whisper a deeper truth? No corner of the church is immune to the subtle erosions of time and trend. Similarly, what if, in our zeal to hold the line, we’ve sometimes overlooked the very divine movements that God has unleashed in the world?

God’s redemptive hand has been at work all along, weaving supernatural threads into the fabric of history precisely as He promised in Scripture. In the last century, two profound divine interventions stand out, like beacons in the night. The first is the Pentecostal movement, igniting around the 1910s but with roots bursting forth earlier. Picture the Azusa Street Revival in Los Angeles, erupting in April 1906 under William J. Seymour, where the Holy Spirit fell with Pentecostal fire, drawing multitudes into ecstatic worship. Almost simultaneously, the Welsh Revival of 1904–1905, led by the young Evan Roberts, swept through coal mines and chapels, transforming hardened hearts overnight. And in Korea, the Pyongyang Revival of January 1907 convulsed the nation, with thousands confessing sins and surrendering to Christ in scenes reminiscent of the Early Church. These were no mere emotional stirrings; they echoed the Book of Acts, with speaking in tongues (glossolalia), the outpouring immersions of the Holy Spirit, and signs and wonders flowing freely—gifts that had mostly lain dormant for centuries, perhaps even millennia.

“And these signs will follow those who believe: In My name they will cast out demons; they will speak with new tongues; they will take up serpents; and if they drink anything deadly, it will by no means hurt them; they will lay hands on the sick, and they will recover.”

Mark 16:17–18, NKJV

Curiously, the spiritual titans of the Reformation and Puritan eras—think John Calvin or the earnest Puritans—did not report such phenomena. Calvin himself confessed in his Institutes that he puzzled over what Paul meant by tongues, admitting it eluded his experience. John Wesley’s famed “strangely warmed” heart in May 1738 was as vivid as it got—a personal assurance of faith, but not the corporate outpouring of Acts.

What might explain this resurgence? Derek Prince offers what strikes me as the most luminous insight: the biblical pattern of “early and latter rains.”

“Then I will give you the rain for your land in its season, the early rain and the latter rain, that you may gather in your grain, your new wine, and your oil.”

Deuteronomy 11:14

“Be glad then, you children of Zion, And rejoice in the Lord your God; For He has given you the former rain faithfully, And He will cause the rain to come down for you— The former rain, And the latter rain in the first month.”

Joel 2:23

Prince sees the early rains in the Apostolic Age as the Church Age kicks off, a focused deluge of the Spirit’s gifts, while the latter rains—intensifying over the last century—signal a renewed, concentrated manifestation in the Body of Christ as we approach the end of the Church Age and the establishment of the Millennial Kingdom. The Holy Spirit has never been absent from His church across two millennia, but these seasons of His amplified presence serve as bookends (the technical term is inclusio), also signifying bountiful harvests. And now? Prince urges us to pray as in Zechariah 10:1:

“Ask the Lord for rain in the time of the latter rain. The Lord will make flashing clouds; He will give them showers of rain, Grass in the field for everyone.”

Zechariah 10:1

Could it be that God is calling us to seek Him in earnest even more during these end times?

The second divine milestone? The miraculous rebirth and preservation of Israel as a nation, proclaimed on May 14, 1948, against staggering odds. What followed were wars nothing short of Biblical: the 1948 Arab-Israeli War of Independence, where fledgling Israel repelled five Arab armies; the 1967 Six-Day War, a lightning victory that reunited Jerusalem; the 1973 Yom Kippur War, surviving a surprise assault; and the ongoing conflicts escalating into 2024 Operation Pager & 2025 Operation Rising Lion, the latest in the Israel-Hamas War that began October 7, 2023. Eyewitness accounts abound of supernatural interventions—diverted armies, unexplained fogs, and improbable triumphs—that echo God’s ancient covenants. Interestingly, the aforementioned Pentecostal movement and the establishment of Israel intertwine in the 1920s–1940s, as chronicled in Norman Grubb’s Rees Howells: Intercessor. From Bible College of Wales in Swansea—born of the Welsh Revival’s embers—Howells and his students waged fervent intercession, their prayers instrumental in paving the way for Israel’s 1948 birth. Could this be the reason why Pentecostal fellowships have long been Israel’s staunchest allies, their hearts attuned to prophecy’s drumbeat?

From a biblical prophecy lens, Israel’s restoration on that spring day in 1948 towers as the single most significant event in a millennium—the very sprouting of the fig tree Jesus described.

“Now learn this parable from the fig tree: When its branch has already become tender and puts forth leaves, you know that summer is near. So you also, when you see all these things, know that it is near—at the doors! Assuredly, I say to you, this generation will by no means pass away till all these things take place.”

Matthew 24:32–34, NKJV

The 1948 rebirth of Israel signals the onset of the “end of the end times”, fulfilling Ezekiel’s dry bones and Isaiah’s regathering. Interestingly, many pre-20th century Reformed preachers (at least the ones who did not subscribe to Replacement Theology) correctly recognised that the OT prophecies and promises of God concerning the final re-gathering and re-establishment of His people—“never again to be uprooted from the land I have given them” (Amos 9:15)—still faced historical fulfilment in the future:

“There will again be the form of a body politic; a state shall be incorporated and a king shall reign.”

Charles Spurgeon, 1855 sermon

“The Jews will be gathered again as a separate nation, restored to their own land, and converted to Christ.”

J.C. Ryle, Coming Events and Present Duties

“The Jews shall return to their own land in unbelief.. then the judgments shall fall, preparing them for the Messiah.”

Horatius Bonar, Prophetical Landmarks

But even these faithful teachers of the Bible, not in their wildest dreams, could have foreseen the events of May 1948. Indeed, just as it is written in Isaiah:

“Who has ever heard of such things? Who has ever seen things like this? Can a country be born in a day or a nation be brought forth in a moment? Yet no sooner is Zion in labour than she gives birth to her children.”

Isaiah 66:8, KJV

What if, in their admirable resolve to shield the Word from worldly compromise, our ultra-conservative brethren have quietly sidelined these epochal acts of God? By gatekeeping the pulpit—reserving it for seminary-vetted pastors with pedigreed résumés—might they unwittingly foster a sheltered enclave, where fresh winds of God’s redemptive history struggle to blow in?

Instead, sermons often linger on the safer shores: the Gospels’ narratives, Paul’s epistles unpacked with care, but shying from the Olivet Discourse’s urgent prophecies or the mystery of the Rapture. Old Testament depths are plumbed, yet those passages from the Major and Minor Prophets—those visions of Christ’s return, the Tribulation, and the Millennial Kingdom—are rarely expounded upon. A systematic verse-by-verse study of Revelation often stops shy of the fourth chapter, ending with the seven letters of Jesus to the seven angels of the seven churches in Revelation 2-3. The “Watcher” community, eyes fixed on Israel, Turkey, Iran, Russia through Scripture’s prism, gets dismissed as fringe enthusiasts, their fervour likened to the 1988 Rapture frenzy sparked by Edgar Whisenant’s book 88 Reasons Why the Rapture Will Be in 1988. I understand the caution; date-setting has scorched many. And truly, one could preach the timeless Gospel—sanctification, grace, daily discipleship—for 365 days a year without exhausting its riches. God delights in such fidelity; it’s the meat that sustains the flock. But in this year of 2025, with shadows lengthening, isn’t it possible to weave in even 10% on the end times? On our Bridegroom’s imminent call, the Blessed Hope of our Rapture, the coming wrath, and on the Millennial dawn? Jesus Himself commends the “faithful and wise servant” in Matthew 24:45–47:

“Who then is a faithful and wise servant, whom his master made ruler over his household, to give them food in due season? Blessed is that servant whom his master, when he comes, will find so doing. Assuredly, I say to you that he will make him ruler over all his goods.”

Matthew 24:45-47, NKJV

What is “due season” food if not the timely manna of Bible prophecy and the end times, stirring us to “say No to ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright and godly lives in this present age” (Titus 2:13), to proclaim the Gospel with eschatological urgency, and to “fight the good fight, finish the race, keep the faith,” as we eagerly await and love His appearing (2 Timothy 4:7-8)?

And in Joel’s vision of the last days, doesn’t God broaden the table even further?

“And it shall come to pass afterward That I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh; Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, Your old men shall dream dreams, Your young men shall see visions. And also on My menservants and on My maidservants I will pour out My Spirit in those days”

Joel 2:28–29, NKJV

Here, in these end-of-the-end times, might the Spirit empower not just the ordained clergy, but everyday vessels like you and me—untutored in seminaries yet brimming with heavenly fire, inspired by the vast Yosemite vistas that remind us of the Creator’s boundless reach? What a humbling grace. Even so, come, Lord Jesus! Maranatha!

“He who testifies to these things says, ‘Surely I am coming quickly.’ Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus!”

Revelation 22:20, NKJV