If you hadn’t heard by now, Elizabeth Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, a.k.a. Elizabeth Windsor, a.k.a. The Queen has recently died.  Being an American, I am not all that concerned about the private affairs of somebody else’s family, but I am concerned about the stability of the British Commonwealth of Nations, and as a student of history, I am fascinated by the legacy of the monarchy, its impact on the United States, and the world.

The following is an old, slightly revised, homework assignment from The Global Celebration School of Supernatural Ministry, which has some of my thoughts on our own Royal Identity.

Thanks for letting me take up some of your time.

-BK

I don’t know why I chose that particular moment to wake up. Perhaps I felt the Jesuit Priest staring at me. I had become used to people staring at me, after all I was a freakish sight. It was the middle of August, but I was wearing a leather bombers jacket, a tattered sweatshirt, ripped and ragged jeans, and a pair of Doc Martins, shiny black with red laces. My hair was starting to form dreadlocks, not by intent, but by prolonged periods of not washing, which caused me to stink very badly. Even among my peers who also lived on the F train, I did, indeed, stand out.

Sleep, when living on the streets, is a precious commodity, and the F train is a relatively safe place to grab a few moments of sweet rest. The gentle rocking motion helps counter the acquired instinct to keep one eye open at all costs, lest a human predator comes near.

I was quite annoyed at this priest for having the audacity to stare at me while I was sleeping. There was a somewhat condescending attitude about him, with a measure of contempt as well.

After a few minutes of a no blink contest, I said to him, “Birds of the air have their nest, foxes have their holes, but the Son of Man has no place to lay His head.”

“That’s from Luke,” he muttered as he looked away from me towards the floor.

“No my friend, that’s from Jesus.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the entire car, and the young Jesuit quickly got off at the next stop. 

That was many years ago, and many things have changed since then. While that Clergyman certainly knew about Jesus, and likely knew Jesus, it appeared that he did not know his own identity IN Jesus. At the same time, I knew more about Jesus, than actually knowing Him, but I was able to begin to tap into my identity IN Jesus, in spite of the circumstance of my situation.

My situation, at that time, was one of having a perpetual identity crisis, specifically, that I was living as a pauper, rather than a Prince.

It seems to me that this lie, this propaganda, which multitudes have chosen to accept that we are less than Sons and Daughters, Princes and Princesses, Regents and Dauphins, all is rooted in the orphan spirit, which is birthed by the first orphan himself, the accuser of the brethren.

Think about it.

The one who once was the anointed cherub, the one with musical instruments built into his body, the one who was once called “the Bright and Morning Star,” grieved the most gracious and forgiving Being in all of eternity to the point where he was totally evicted, disinherited, cast out, exiled, and cut off with no hope of redemption at all. What a splendid excuse for a pity party. 

Now we all know that misery loves company, and that birds of a feather flock together… It is obvious to see then how trying to convince the ones Father loves that they are just as abandoned as he was with the hope that if enough folks buy into this lie, that familiar spirit will create a counterfeit family.

A few years ago, Elizabeth Windsor celebrated her Silver Jubilee as Queen of the United Kingdom. During the festivities and hoopla surrounding the event, CBS News interviewed her grandson, Prince Harry. During the interview, he was asked what it is like to have the Queen as your grandmother. He replied “Grannie? Well, she’s Grannie! I don’t understand your question.”  As far as Prince Harry is concerned, having the Queen of England as your grandmother is perfectly normal, as he is part of the Royal Family.

We are members of the Most Royal Family, and we ought to see our relationship with Papa as perfectly normal. Just as Harry Windsor can ask his Grannie for various and sundry things, and even, when disagreement occurs, expect to be able to persuade her to see his side, so can we with Papa. (Hey, it worked for Moses and Abraham, and they were under a covenant that is not nearly as good as ours.) The only thing keeping us from our true identity is that we still cling to the lie that we are orphans and excluded because of our past behaviors. We have adopted satan’s identity in place of our own.

Face it. We like the lie. It’s a “safe” place. As long as we accept the enemies’ identity, we won’t have to risk embarrassing ourselves for Papas sake; our neighbors won’t talk about us behind our backs; our employers and coworkers wont avoid us, and perhaps best of all, the church people won’t accuse us of being heretics.

Which is cool, if that’s how you want to live your life

As far as I am concerned, that “safe” place is nothing more than flypaper, a place of where I can find lots of people who think alike, and gather together, but in reality is a pace of stagnation, and death.

Living things move.

But we are more than mere living things, we are ABUNDANTLY LIVING, and doing so with total and complete authority. Even the simple act of you walking into the room changes the atmosphere.

Consider this:

Ruah Ha’Kadosh, the Pneunmos, the Holy Spirit IS the very air you breath. The Holy Spirit saturates every fiber of your being. As you exhale, the Breath of God enters the room, the atmosphere is changed, transformed into one that is identical to the Holy, Holy place before the very throne of heaven itself. My friend Rob Radosti once said we are “traffickers of the gospel,’ but I believe we can even further and say we are “Traffickers of the very Presence of the Holy One of Israel!”

SHAKAH!!!!!!!

When we enter a room, He enters a room, and when this happens, we bring Humility, Honor, Power, Righteousness, and Authority. Not just for ourselves, but for subsequent generations as well.