by Jennifer McPherson

There are moments when the Lord allows us to see what grieves His heart, not to overwhelm us, but to invite us into intercession. What He reveals is never meant to shame, but to awaken love — to call His people back to what truly matters. This is one of those moments.

The Dream

Sometime ago, I had a dream. In that dream, I was sitting in the sanctuary of a large church. It was bright, beautiful, and full of expectation — yet as I looked down, I realized there was blood everywhere.

It wasn’t contained to one corner or row. It covered the floors, the seats, even the stage. I began to panic, knowing leaders were coming in soon. Surely they would see it too. But as they walked in, they took their seats on the front row, completely oblivious to the blood that surrounded them.

Frantic, I began reaching out, saying, “Help me clean this up! There’s blood everywhere!”
Some responded by handing me small towels — far too small to make a difference. And so I fell to my knees, weeping uncontrollably, trying to wipe away what felt impossible to clean. My heart broke as I cried over the blood in the house of God.

The Weight That Remained

For weeks after the dream, I carried a deep heaviness. It wasn’t fear — it was grief. I didn’t know how to share what I saw or what to do with the weight I felt. The problem seemed too big to fix.

Over time, I realized something profound: I didn’t represent one person trying to fix it — I represented a movement.
A movement of those who can no longer walk past the pain in the house of God. Those who are being stirred by the Spirit to weep where others remain indifferent, and to intercede where others have grown numb.

The Pain We’ve Ignored

What has resurfaced in my heart recently is this: there are countless people who have been wounded, silenced, and cast aside within the walls that bear God’s name. And while that reality is heartbreaking, what pierces deepest is that, for the most part, we’ve grown comfortable stepping over the blood.

We’ve learned to keep serving, building, and preaching — even when the floor beneath us cries out with the pain of those who’ve been hurt. We’ve continued in the mission but lost the tenderness of mercy.

And I hear the Father saying:

“You cannot build upon the shed blood of those who were wounded while among those called to lead them. I am calling for cleansing in My house — not condemnation, but compassion. I am restoring purity, humility, and love.”

The Heart of the Father

This word is not about exposure — it’s about healing.
The Father is not looking to destroy His Church; He is looking to restore His Bride. He’s calling us to see what He sees — not with judgment, but with tears. He’s raising up those who will not move on from pain, but will carry His heart until healing comes.

The blood in the sanctuary is not only a symbol of wounds; it’s also a reminder of the blood of Jesus — the only thing powerful enough to cleanse, redeem, and restore what has been broken.

He’s calling for a Church that feels again. A Church that weeps again. A Church that loves again.

An Invitation to Weep with Him

If you’ve ever wept over the pain you’ve seen in the Church, know this: your tears are not wasted. They are intercession. You’re not standing outside the house — you’re standing in the heart of the Father.

He’s not asking you to fix it all; He’s asking you to feel again. To pray again. To see what He sees and respond with compassion. Revival won’t come through more performance or perfection — it will come through hearts washed in His tears.

“Return to Me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning. Rend your heart and not your garments. Return to the Lord your God, for He is gracious and compassionate.”
— Joel 2:12–13

“For it is time for judgment to begin with the house of God; and if it begins with us, what will the outcome be for those who do not obey the gospel of God?”
— 1 Peter 4:17

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
— Matthew 5:4

Closing Thought

The heart of the Father is still for His house — but He is cleaning it from the inside out. The shaking you see is not destruction; it’s mercy. The tears you cry are not weakness; they’re partnership with His love.

The blood in the sanctuary is not the end of the story — it’s the beginning of healing.