In Leipzig, the pews whispered fear.
But Christian Fuhrer
opened the church anyway.
He expected ten.
One hundred came.
He read the Sermon on the Mount aloud
until it filled the arches like wind.
Stasi eyes stared from the pews.
The state said no god but power.
By year eight—
seventy thousand candles
glowed against tanks and roadblocks.
They walked the streets with light in hand.
No rocks.
No fists.
Just peace.
The government was prepared for anything
except prayer.
One month later—
the wall fell.
Leviticus doesn’t mumble:
“I am the Lord who makes them holy.”
Seventeen times—holy.
Six times—defiled.
The priest must respect the name,
or dishonour the One who gave it.
This is not overreaction.
This is not about ego.
This is the tabernacle,
not a beer tent.
To lead is to carry God’s name
without dragging it through the mud.
Holiness isn’t private.
The people must be separate—
morally, spiritually, physically.
Not cloistered, but clean.
Not charlatans of the dead,
chanting charms to coax an afterlife.
But people of the living God,
the source of life,
who grieve with hope
and celebrate resurrection.
The world holds séances.
We hold promises.
A leader’s home speaks loud.
Faithfulness is not a part-time virtue.
The priest must marry well,
not for image
but for lineage,
so the name of God
is not mocked in scandal.
We wince.
But we see the point—
God’s name is not for shrugging at.
It is to be honoured
at the dinner table,
in the hallway,
behind closed doors.
No blemish, no deformity.
It sounds cruel—
but it is symbolic.
The priest, a picture of wholeness.
The standard? Too high.
And that is the point.
No one is perfect.
But One was.
Christ bore the blemish
so we could be called clean.
He was pierced,
so we could stand whole.
So pour yourself out.
Not to match the culture,
but to model Christ.
Say no to the altar of comfort.
Say yes to the daily cross.
To live holy in a godless world
is not to hide—
but to walk into the street
with a candle.
To speak with mercy,
to lead with integrity,
to choose faithfulness
when no one is watching.
God has made you holy.
Now live it out.
Set apart.
Not perfect—
but held.
Not stained—
but sent.
Light your candle.
Walk your street.
You are not alone.
He goes with you.
He calls you holy.
Original message by Scott Monk, The Bridge Church Macquarie Park NSW
The Afterword 
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