Author Archives: osheadavis

The Devil Works All Things for Your Bad

Romans 8:28

This isn’t the ear-tickle many folks are after—oh no, they much prefer cherry-picking Romans 8 like it’s a cosmic vending machine: “God works all things for your good.” They sling it around like fatalists at a blame-dodging convention, faithless folks shrugging off responsibility faster than they can say, “did God really say?”

In the trusty grip of a true believer, this verse is pure gold— a rock-solid anchor showing God’s sovereignty flexing its muscles through grace to shower blessings automatically. It unfolds in a few proven ways. One, is our identity in Christ and His finished work (you know, the plot twist where the hero already wins). That’s the doctrine we geek out over here, aptly dubbed “You Already Got It.” Another is the autopilot perks of God’s goodness raining down, no strings attached because of our new creation already being reality, and because we are sons of Abraham’s blessing (Galatians 3, Luke 13:10-17). Thus, even when we’re fumbling the ball—imperfect, half-hearted, or binge-watching instead of Bible-studying—He keeps those sweet promises and covenant goodies flowing like a divine subscription we didn’t earn.

That said, the faithless take this verse and wreck it: They twist this gem into a get-out-of-jail-free card, or worse, snooze through the fine print that not every blessing hits the auto-apply button. Spoiler: Many promises and benefits require us to use our faith.

There are many blessings of our Christianity that come automatically, but others only come by active faith in God’s promises. It is the difference between a partial victory and a full victory. Full victories happen when we apply our faith to specific promises and these get piled on top of the automatic ones God is always working in us.

Folks love to trot out Romans 8:28 like it’s a get-out-of-jail-free card for every mess life throws at them. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” They quote it with a shrug, as if God’s sovereignty means we just sit back and let the chips fall—good or bad; I mean, it’s all part of the plan, right? But that’s fatalism dressed up in Bible verses, a lazy dodge that shirks responsibility and starves faith. It’s not what Paul meant, and it’s sure not how Scripture paints the picture. The truth? The devil is out there working all things for your bad, stealing, killing, and destroying like the thief he is (John 10:10). God flips the script for His elect, but only when we grab hold by faith, resisting Satan and boldly claiming what’s ours. Ignore that, and you’re not just missing out—you’re complicit in the enemy’s playbook.

Let’s start with the basics, straight from God’s Word. Paul doesn’t toss Romans 8:28 into a vacuum; he builds it on the rock of God’s decrees for His chosen ones. As I lay out in Systematic Theology: 2025, “Take for example when Paul says in Romans 8 ‘He works all things for our good.’ God plans for a big good, and so He creates (and causes) temporary evil for the Elect to overcome, and then by this receive this big good. This can be seen in the story of Joseph. What they meant for evil, God meant it for good. This only applies to God’s elect” (p. 114). See that? It’s not a blanket promise for anyone breathing; it’s laser-focused on those God foreloved, predestined, called, justified, and glorified in that unbreakable chain (Romans 8:29-30). God’s working all for good isn’t automatic like gravity—it’s sovereign grace unleashed through faith, turning Satan’s schemes into stepping stones.

But here’s where the rubber meets the road, and where so many faith-fumblers veer off into the ditch. Satan doesn’t twiddle his thumbs while God orchestrates. No, he’s proactive, a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour (1 Peter 5:8). Sickness? Poverty? Broken relationships? That’s his handiwork, not some divine mystery. Take healing, for instance. In Acts 10:38, Peter nails it: Jesus “went around doing good and healing all who were under the power of the devil, because God was with him.” Sickness isn’t God’s autograph—it’s Satan’s graffiti on your life. Sickness Is Satan’s Glory, Not God’s. The Bible has no issue saying sickness isn’t from God; it is from Satan or the curse. This matters because if we think sickness comes from God, we won’t fight it. That is one reason Jesus battled sickness so hard while tradition doesn’t. Jesus saw sickness as Satan’s direct attack on Him, His Father, and His people. So, He smashed it wherever He found it. Sickness is Satan flipping the bird at Jesus’ atonement. Healing is Jesus slamming His fist into Satan’s face, again and again. There’s a real war here.

Think about it: if a sick person in Jesus’ crowd stayed back, nursing unbelief instead of pressing in by faith, was God “working all for good” or was Satan working all things for their misery? If you can’t tell the different, you are not one team Jesus. That was Satan working all for bad, oppressing them unchecked. The woman with the issue of blood didn’t get her miracle by quoting Romans 8:25 and waiting passively for the mysterious will of God, to show up in her life. No. She stretched her faith like a lifeline, grabbing Jesus’ hem (Mark 5:25-34). Faith activates God’s good; unbelief lets Satan run roughshod. I’ve seen it play out too many times: Christians limp along with ailments, chalking it up to “God’s will,” when Scripture screams otherwise. Isaiah 53:4-5, Matthew 8:17—Jesus bore our sicknesses on the cross, just like our sins. To call disease divine is to blur Jesus and Satan, like mistaking the Shepherd for the wolf in a police lineup. And folks who can’t tell the difference want to lecture on theology? That’s rich, like a blind man critiquing Picasso.

This isn’t just about healing; it’s the whole kit and caboodle. Poverty? Satan loves keeping you scraping by, but God promises abundance through faith in His covenant (Deuteronomy 28:1-14, Galatians 3:14). Broken relationships? The enemy sows discord, but faith claims reconciliation and peace (Ephesians 2:14-16). Lack in any area? It’s the devil grinding you down, but God’s working for good kicks in when you repent of unbelief and ask boldly. Peter includes healing in Jesus’ “doing good” (Acts 10:38). Yet unbelievers redefine God’s goodness as handing out cancer then forcing Romans 8:28 down your throat. Why does their definition of God sound like Satan; why does it sound like paganism? Pagan gods are fickle; our God is faithful to His promises when we believe.

Paul’s golden chain in Romans 8 isn’t a passive conveyor belt—it’s a call to live in the reality of God’s decrees. “And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified” (Romans 8:30). This sorites shows the certainty. The conclusion is: ‘All those God foreloves are those He glorifies. God’s direct and absolute sovereignty is Christian reality and causality. But on the human level, where we live and fight, faith is the key that unlocks it. Without it, you’re letting Satan work overtime for your bad. James 4:7: “Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.” Resistance isn’t optional—it’s commanded. And how do you resist? By faith alone, speaking to mountains, commanding demons, claiming healing (Mark 11:23, James 5:15).

God’s sovereignty undergirds it all. Even temporary evils, like Joseph’s betrayal, God means for good (Genesis 50:20). But that’s no excuse to wallow. Faith turns the tide. When you ask for healing, and God heals your cancer, this healing makes you stronger than ever: you grow stronger in your inner man, mature as a Christian, and get more complete with God’s fullness.  Receiving by faith—miracles, provision, breakthroughs—that’s experiencing God’s love poured out (Romans 5:5), and it grows the inner man. It’s not arrogance; it’s agreement with His Word. Vincent Cheung, puts it sharp: mature doctrine is “not what we do for God, but what God does for us” (from his essay “What Is Mature Doctrine”).

Imagine standing in the crowd as Jesus passes by, your body wracked with some chronic ailment that’s drained your strength and hope for years. You’ve heard the stories of His power, yet there you linger at the edges, too timid or doubtful to push forward and claim what’s yours. In that moment, calling your suffering “God working all things for your good” is a flat-out misrepresentation, like confusing a thief’s raid with a father’s provision. No, that’s Satan grinding away at you, stealing your vitality and joy while you stand idle, essentially handing him the reins. Romans 8:28 isn’t a passive blanket over every hardship; it’s God’s sovereign promise activated in the lives of those who love Him through bold action. But if you hang back, refusing to stretch your faith like the woman who grabbed the hem of Jesus’ robe in faith, you’re willingly aligning with the devil’s agenda—letting oppression linger when deliverance is within reach. It’s as if you’re at a banquet, starving because you won’t pick up the fork, all while blaming the host for your hunger, saying, “my host is working all my hunger for my good.” No, that’s just you being stupid and hypocritical.

The instant you shatter that unbelief and cry out in faith for healing, that’s when Jesus steps in to rework that slice of your existence for your ultimate good, much like how salvation dawns only upon repentance, ushering in those refreshing times Peter preached about in Acts 3:19. On our human level, where God engages us relationally, many facets of His benevolent orchestration remain unmoved until we exercise faith—stretching it out, as that bleeding woman did amid the throng, her touch drawing power from Him and turning her torment into God’s testimony (Mark 5:25-34). It’s not that God’s power is stingy; it’s that He’s predestined it this way, honoring faith by giving us the world. Think of forgiveness: the cross already paid the price, but the “working for good” ignites when you confess and receive. So, don’t just quote Romans 8 like a talisman against trouble; live it by resisting Satan fiercely, claiming healing as your inheritance, and watching how faith transforms the devil’s bad intentions into God’s brilliant turnaround—like turning a battlefield rout into a victory parade, with a wink from heaven saying, “See what happens when you believe?”

If there is part of your life you have lived in unbelief for 30 years, then it’s 30 years wasted in the area. We must be honest about that. But once you turn your faith to God to receive purchased gospel blessings and miracles, then at that point God begins to work it for your good, in 100-fold. Sure, even in your lack of knowledge and unbelief, God’s grace still kept you from much harm that you didn’t even see, and helped you in ways you did not notice, but you will not fully experience God working all things for your good until you stop the unbelief and have faith for miracles.

Picture this: Jesus, our ultimate High Priest, locked Himself into an unbreakable covenant with us—a divine deal sealed in the blood of His gospel, doling out every last goodie it promises. That’s His lane, His unbreakable priesthood. He shows up exclusively as the ultimate Good News Delivery Guy, not some cosmic prankster promising healing but sneaking in cancer in the backdoor.

Sickness? Nah, that’s not in His portfolio: it’s not his ministry, it’s not part of His contract with us. That’s Satan’s shady side-hustle, his knockoff priesthood peddling misery like bad infomercials. If you’re gunning for that Romans 8 remix—”all things working for your good”—you’ve gotta strut up to your High Priest with the confidence of a kid raiding the cookie jar. Boldly claim those promises: ask big, receive huge. Skip that step? Congrats, you’re handing Satan the reins on the sickness parade, the poverty pity party, the relationship trainwrecks, and the “why me?” lack attacks. And labeling that mess God’s handiwork. That’s like accidentally calling Jesus “Satan” at a family reunion. Face-slap city.

Want the full God-orchestrated glow-up? Then resist Satan like your life depends on it, because it does. Step up in faith, swing for the fences with audacious asks, and watch supernatural miracles rain down like confetti at a victory bash. No detours, no Plan B hacks. But hey, why chase shortcuts when this is the VIP route? God’s blueprint; its the one where faith alone hands you the keys to the kingdom, the Spirit’s turbo boost, and a lifetime supply of every good thing. All of it? Working overtime for your epic win, in every plot twist of your story.

Why settle for another way? This is God’s way—the good way, where by faith alone you possess the world, the Spirit, and all good things, with every part of life worked for your ultimate victory. Satan plots your downfall, but faith lets God rewrite the story. Choose faith, and watch the devil’s bad become God’s grand slam. After all, if God’s for us, who can be against us? (Romans 8:31).

Your Peace

In Luke 10:5-9 and Matthew 10:12-13, Jesus lays out a blueprint for His disciples that’s as straightforward as it is revolutionary to the faithless. “Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace be to this house.’ And if a man of peace is there, your peace will rest on him, but if not, it will return to you. Stay in that house, eating and drinking what they give you; for the laborer is worthy of his wages. Do not keep moving from house to house. And whatever city you enter and they receive you, eat what is set before you; and heal those in it who are sick, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you,’” (Luke 10:5-9 LSB). Matthew echoes this: “As you enter the home, give it your greeting. If the home is deserving, let your peace rest on it; if it is not, let your peace return to you,” (Matthew 10:12-13 NIV).

Jesus operated as a man born under the law, anointed with the Spirit’s power for ministry—not relying on His divine nature, but showing us how a Spirit-empowered human crushes Satan’s works. He didn’t do miracles in “Jesus power” as God incarnate flexing; no, He modeled what a man filled with the Spirit could achieve. And here’s the kicker: that same Spirit, that same authority, He handed off to His followers. On the relative level—the human level where we live, fight, and pray—it’s “your peace,” not God’s. Once bestowed, it’s ours to wield, to give or withdraw as we see fit. Luke ties it to faith with that simple “first say”—a command spoken in confidence, expecting results because God’s sovereign mind integrates His power so seamlessly into our reality that when we declare it, heaven backs us up.

Think about it deductively. Premise one: God is sovereign, decreeing all things, including the authority He delegates to His elect (Matthew 28:18-20; Acts 1:8). Premise two: Jesus, post-resurrection, pours out this authority on believers through the Spirit, commanding us to heal the sick and advance His kingdom (Luke 10:9; Mark 16:17-18). Conclusion: If you’re born from above, this power isn’t locked in heaven waiting for a divine mood swing—it’s yours now, on the human level, to command peace over homes, sickness, and even demonic strongholds. Deny that, and you’re not just short on faith; you’re slapping the Spirit who anoints us for battle.

“On the human level, Jesus, the most God-centered man ever, said about both healing and forgiveness, ‘Your faith saved you.’ In Acts 10:38, Peter says all the sick people Jesus healed were ‘victimized’ or oppressed ‘by the devil.’ So, the Bible has no issue saying sickness isn’t from God; it is from Satan or the curse” (ST. p. 658). As God says in Isaiah 54, If someone attacks you, I did not send them. Or in today’s terms, if sickness attacks you, I did not send it. Jesus didn’t point to ultimate metaphysics every time He healed—He almost always pointed to the person’s faith. Why? Because that’s how God relates to us: through covenants, promises, and His good nature. Satan offered Jesus authority over kingdoms (Luke 4:5-6), but Jesus reclaimed it all at the cross, triumphing over principalities (Colossians 2:15). Now, seated at the right hand of Power, He says, “All authority has been given to Me” (Matthew 28:18 LSB), and then commissions us to use it.

But what about us today? If we don’t want to blaspheme the Spirit, our response must be that we have more than the disciples pre-Pentecost. They operated under Jesus’ direct commission, but post-resurrection, the fullness of the Spirit is poured out for power (Acts 2:33). It’s impossible to claim we have less without insulting the Spirit’s outpouring. Unlike the faithless who center on man—”Oh, that was for apostles only”—it was never about them; it was about God anointing humans to smash Satan’s works. Peter preached the baptism of power at Pentecost, and in Acts 3, he declared, “What I have, I give” (Acts 3:6 LSB)—the Name of Jesus, which we all wield. Jesus hammered it in John 14-16: ask in My name, and it’ll be done. This power mirrors binding and loosing (Matthew 18:18)—authority for any who confess Jesus as the Son of God.

Vincent Cheung nails it: “Faith trumps everything. Faith is immune to even correct theological arguments. This is not because faith could contradict sound theology, but because faith can override it” (Faith Override, Sermonettes Vol. 9, 2016, p. 14). The disciples’ peace wasn’t some ethereal vibe; it was Spirit-backed authority to bless or withhold, healing the sick as proof the kingdom’s near. Today, we don’t dust off sandals—we command peace over chaos, sickness, and oppression. If it sticks, great; if not, it returns to us, undiminished. Most Christians treat this like a loaded gun they won’t fire, begging God to pull the trigger while Satan laughs. Newsflash—He gave you the authority; use it, or you’re playing church while the kingdom stalls.

Apply this systematically. First, epistemology: Start with Scripture as God’s truth that is revealed and self-authenticating. God defines peace not as absence of trouble but victory over it—”I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 LSB). Jesus says the peace He has, He has given to us. In God’s sovereign mind there as a substitute in Jesus. He bore the chastisement that has brought us peace. In God’s mind we already have this peace. It is given freely by grace and received by faith. Our Faith assents to this—declare peace over your home, and watch demons flee or blessings flow. Metaphysics: On the ultimate level, God decrees all; relatively, our words release it. The power of the Spirit’s peace was with the disciples; once God gave it to them, then on the human level, it is their peace, not God’s, just as my arm and my legs are mine, not God’s.

Anthropology: We’re remade as overcomers. “By faith we understand that the entire universe was formed at God’s command” (Hebrews 11:3 NIV), so speak to storms, sickness—reality obeys. Ethics: Command it. “Heal those in it who are sick” (Luke 10:9)—not optional. Reject this, and you’re siding with faith-fumblers, peddling unbelief like those who taught bad doctrine to my twin brother Joshua. They’ll be caught trying to wash blood off their hands when the Big Guy’s gavel drops.

When many seem to be fighting for all their lives to get peace, to find peace, to drive out the depression and stress and replace it with peace, Jesus offers an entirely different worldview. He expects us to have His peace. If we can give away our peace like a divine magic spell, then Jesus is presupposing we have this peace already. Jesus says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled, because I have overcome the world.” God’s peace is beyond all that we can measure. It is not merely a psychological crutch in the mind. It is peace with God. It is God’s sovereign decision to make things all around you to treat you well, so that even your enemies are at peace with you. It is blessing that surrounds you like a divine magical ward of luck. It is based on the thoughts of God’s good pleasure toward you. And God’s thoughts are reality; they create reality itself.

This peace isn’t some fragile inner calm that crumbles under the weight of life’s chaos; it’s the unshakeable reality of God’s victory invading our everyday existence, turning potential disasters into divine footnotes of rest. The idea of having peace with God is the ability and position to approach God, in His throne room of grace, to ask and then to receive the help we are asking for. Jesus Himself models this when He declares, “Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27, as quoted on p. 141). Think about it— if God’s presence shows up, as it did in Acts, it’s not content to whisper sweet nothings; it erupts in miracles, healings, and prophecies that bulldoze sickness and troubles. After destroying the troubles we can rest from them. This is God’s peace and it affects the whole life of the man who belongs to God. “Peace is not a chemical feeling in the brain. It is when you can rest from troubles.” Frankly, if your version of peace leaves you grinding through endless stress without supernatural breakthroughs, you’re settling for a counterfeit—Satan’s cheap knockoff, not the real deal that Jesus paid for with His blood. God’s thoughts toward us aren’t wishful thinking; they’re the blueprint of reality, decreeing enemies silenced and blessings overtaking us, as Isaiah 54 promises no weapon formed against us will prosper.

Yet, this peace demands we align our minds with God’s sovereign script, not man’s empirical rewrites. God’s peace flows from His unchanging nature—He doesn’t dabble in shadows or half-measures, as No ‘shadow’ of turning, for a shadow would contradict light. It’s the peace that Jesus bore our chastisement to secure: “The chastisement for our peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5). God’s presence is a contradiction to suffering. For a child of God, suffering’s greatest enemy and contradiction is God’s presence. If you’re still battling for peace like it’s an uphill slog, perhaps it’s time to stop playing defense and start commanding the mountains to move—because Jesus didn’t overcome the world so we could tiptoe around it. He overcame it, so that we have peace and rest. He overcame the world so that we also overcome, and storm the gates of Hell and expand His kingdom. God creates a reality where peace isn’t pursued; it’s possessed, permeating every corner until even your foes wave the white flag.

Your peace isn’t God’s passive pat on the back—it’s delegated rest that packs more power than a nuclear bomb. Post-Pentecost, we’ve got the upgrade: baptism for power, faith to command. Don’t blaspheme the Spirit by claiming less; grab God’s peace and declare it, and watch the kingdom expand. If critics call this extreme, point them to Jesus—the original faith zealot. But for those with faith? Peace rests, kingdoms fall, and glory goes to the One who armed us for victory.

The Vileness Of Cross-Centered Theology

Oshea Davis

You know, it’s almost comical how some folks wear “cross-centered” like a badge of spiritual humility, as if staring endlessly at Calvary’s bloodied hill makes them the real deal—authentic, raw, untouched by the glitz of glory. But flip through the New Testament, and you’ll see the apostles weren’t playing that game. No, they were throne-centered to the core, laser-focused on Jesus exalted, enthroned at the Father’s right hand, wielding authority that crushes enemies and empowers His people. And if there’s one Old Testament verse that screams this truth louder than any other, it’s Psalm 110:1: “The Lord says to my Lord: ‘Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet.'” This isn’t some obscure poetic flourish—it’s the heavyweight champion of OT quotes in the NT, referenced or alluded to over two dozen times. That’s more than any other verse from the Hebrew Scriptures, a fact that ought to make us pause and ask why the inspired writers couldn’t get enough of it.

Consider the sheer volume: Jesus Himself quotes it in Matthew 22:44, Mark 12:36, and Luke 20:42-43 to stump the Pharisees on the Messiah’s identity. Peter blasts it out in his Pentecost sermon (Acts 2:34-35), tying Jesus’ resurrection directly to this enthronement, and the present reality of the baptism of the Spirit for power. Paul echoes it in 1 Corinthians 15:25 and Ephesians 1:20, emphasizing Christ’s dominion over all powers. And Hebrews? That book’s practically a love letter to Psalm 110, quoting verse 1 in 1:13 and weaving its themes throughout chapters 1, 5, 7, 8, and 10 to hammer home Jesus as the eternal Priest-King. Allusions pop up everywhere else—Romans 8:34, Colossians 3:1, Hebrews 12:2—painting a picture not of a perpetually suffering Savior but of a victorious Lord reigning now, subduing foes under His feet. If the NT writers were scripting a highlight reel, they’d skip the slow-motion cross scenes and cut straight to the throne room coronation. Why? Because that’s where the action is—the present reality that defines everything from salvation to spiritual warfare.

The most quoted verse is not Isaiah 53, concerning of the suffering servant. No. The most quoted passage is about the enthroned Jesus, ruling, empowering the saints with the Spirit’s baptism and enemies being subdued under Him. This was the greatest focus of the NT writers, and it will also be ours.

This throne obsession flips the script on what it means to be gospel-centered. Too many today think humility demands a perpetual gaze at the cross, as if fixating on our sins and Jesus’ suffering keeps us grounded, preventing some imagined drift into arrogance. But that’s a subtle trap, isn’t it? It turns the gospel into a somber memorial service rather than a triumphant declaration of regime change. The cross was the battle won, the atonement secured, but the throne is the victory applied—the ongoing rule where Jesus pours out the Spirit, answers prayers, and expands His kingdom through us.

To be truly Christ-centered is to lock eyes on the exalted Christ, the one Hebrews 1:3 describes as “sustaining all things by his powerful word” after purifying us from sins. Sure, we remember the cross—Jesus commanded it in the Lord’s Supper—but that very command assumes we’re not stuck there. Why tell someone to “remember” something if they’re already obsessing over it? No, the presupposition is that our default posture is throne-focused, living in the reality of His reign, occasionally glancing back to marvel at the love that got us here. It’s like a king reminding his heirs of the war that won the crown; they don’t relive the battlefield daily—they rule from the palace, grateful, but forward-focused.

Take Peter’s Pentecost powerhouse in Acts 2. He doesn’t linger on the crucifixion details, though they’re fresh wounds. Instead, he rockets to the throne: “God has raised this Jesus to life, and we are all witnesses of it. Exalted to the right hand of God, he has received from the Father the promised Holy Spirit and has poured out what you now see and hear” (Acts 2:32-33). Boom—resurrection leads straight to enthronement, which unleashes the Spirit’s power. No wonder the crowd’s cut to the heart; they’re not just hearing about forgiveness but about a King who’s actively dismantling Satan’s hold, starting with tongues of fire and miracles galore. If Peter were cross-centered in the modern sense, he’d have camped out on guilt and repentance alone. But he’s throne-centered, so the application is power—baptism in the Spirit for all whom the Lord calls, no expiration date.

This echoes what I’ve written before about the disciplined son in the Father’s house: even in correction, we’re not exiled beggars but insiders sitting inside the Father’s palace, waiting in our room while the Father prepares greater things. Discipline stings, but the throne room door stays open, grace flowing unhindered.

Hebrews takes this even further, using Psalm 110 to redefine our entire approach to God. In chapter 1, it quotes verse 1 to prove Jesus’ superiority over angels: “To which of the angels did God ever say, ‘Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies a footstool for your feet’?” (Hebrews 1:13). The point? Jesus isn’t just a messenger—He’s the enthroned Son, heir of all things. By chapter 10, this throne reality empowers us to “draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings” (10:22), holding unswervingly to hope because He’s faithful. No cowering in false humility; we’re commanded to storm the throne boldly for mercy and help (4:16).

Frankly, this throne-centered vibe exposes the poverty of cross-centered theology. It’s like celebrating a wedding by fixating on the proposal—sweet, but missing the marriage feast. Jesus’ command to remember His body and blood during communion presupposes we’re feasting in the kingdom now, not starving in perpetual Lent. If we’re already cross-fixated, why the reminder? No, it’s because our eyes are meant for the horizon, the exalted King who intercedes for us (Romans 8:34), making our prayers as potent as His. Paul in Ephesians 1:19-23 prays we’d grasp the “incomparably great power for us who believe”—the same power that raised Christ to the throne, putting everything under His feet for the church’s benefit. That’s not humble pie; that’s dominion delegated, enemies footstooled.

Take that tired trope: “For every look at your sin, take ten looks at the cross.” Sounds pious, right? But it’s a faith-killer in disguise, pumping unbelief like steroids. Sure, recall the atonement—it’s foundational—but fixating there keeps you sin-conscious, not righteousness-aware. Hebrews 10:2 slams perpetual guilt: once purged, no more sin-consciousness. Instead, 1 John 3:2-3 ties purification to throne-vision: “We know that when He appears, we shall be like Him… Everyone who has this hope in Him purifies himself, just as He is pure.” See yourself already enthroned with Christ (Ephesians 2:6), not perpetually crucified. That’s what scrubs the soul clean—not rubbernecking at a roman torture rack. Cross-gazers barely believe they’re forgiven, let alone righteous. They see a bloody mess, not a crowned King. But throne-gazers? They behold the Victor at the Father’s right hand, mirroring His purity by faith. No wonder they strut boldly for help (Hebrews 4:16)—they know their spot’s secure.

Romans 4 seals it: justification isn’t just cross-won; it’s resurrection-sealed. “He was delivered over to death for our sins and was raised to life for our justification” (Romans 4:25). The cross paid the debt, but the throne declares us as the very righteousness of God. Without resurrection to the right hand, no vindication of righteousness—no proof the atonement stuck. Abraham’s faith credited righteousness pre-cross (Romans 4:3), but Jesus’ rising to the throne, enthrones it for us. Cross-only folks limp with half a gospel, doubting they truly are the very righteousness of God. Their constant reminder of the sins makes it hard to believe themselves as God’s righteousness. They see nails, not the empty tomb’s triumph. But resurrection-gazers? They know: if Christ reigns, we’re co-heirs—righteous, pure, empowered, dominated by grace and unstoppable. Unbelief keeps the faithless cross-bound; but faith catapults Christians throne-ward, purified as He is.

The gospel is total salvation, making us clean, righteous, co-heirs with Christ, empowered to judge the world and angels. All things are ours because Jesus defines reality from the throne. To downplay this is to peddle unbelief, staining hands with the blood of those who could’ve thrived but settled for scraps. But for us? We’re sons in the Father’s house, rooms prepared. Even in besetting struggles, we draw from Christ’s continuing growth in us, eyes fixed on the Champion who authors faith from His seat of power. Our eyes are not fixed on Jesus on the cross, but as Hebrews says, on the Jesus the author of or faith, who is sitting on the throne. Anything less? Well, that’s just spiritual slumming when you’ve got palace keys.

So, if Psalm 110:1 reigns supreme in NT citations, it’s because the apostles got it: the gospel’s climax isn’t the empty tomb—it’s the occupied throne. Cross-centered? That’s the doorway for newbies to enter. Throne-centered? That’s full armor, advancing the kingdom with miracles, healings, and unshakeable faith. Remember the atonement, yes—but live with your eye locked on the present ruling Jesus, where He lives, and pours out power, and answered prayers. To focus on a cross is to focus where Jesus is not. To focus on the throne, is to meet the very eyes of Jesus looking back at you. Maybe that’s why the faithless remain cross-focus, because they can’t bear the living Jesus locking eyes with them, less their unbelief gets exposed. But for us who are the righteousness of God, we love to lock eyes with Jesus.  And when you see His eyes turn to lock back on you, you will hear Him say, “Ask anything in my name and you will have it.”

Welcome to the gospel. The real one. Not the one with a cross as the symbol.
But the one with a crown

The Gospel Is Jesus Sitting on a Throne

Listen, if you’re still camping out at the cross like it’s the whole story, you’ve missed the main point—and Hebrews straight-up calls you out on it. The cross was the doorway. The resurrection, the hallway. But the throne room? That’s the destination, the present-tense reality, the place where the gospel actually lives and breathes and swings a sledgehammer at every sickness dumb enough to stick around. The writer of Hebrews doesn’t waste time: “Now this is the main point of the things we are saying: We have such a High Priest, who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in the heavens” (Heb. 8:1). Main point. Not side note. Not optional extra credit. The main point.

Most Christians treat the gospel like a get-out-of-hell-free card and stop there. Forgiveness? Wonderful. However, the gospel is Jesus—resurrected, ascended, crowned, and actively reigning—pouring out the Spirit on everyone who dares to believe that He’s not still bleeding on a Roman pole. Paul told Timothy the gospel he preached was “Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, descended from David” (2 Tim. 2:8). Why David? Because David means King. The resurrection wasn’t just Jesus getting a pulse back; it was God installing His King on Zion’s hill while the nations rage in vain (Ps. 2).  That’s the gospel Paul risked his neck for. Anything less is a truncated, neutered, half-gospel that leaves believers limping around like spiritual invalids.

Think about Pentecost. The disciples had seen the resurrected Jesus—walked with Him, touched Him, ate fish with Him. And Jesus still said, “Not yet. Stay in the city until you’re clothed with power from on high” (Luke 24:49). Why? Because seeing the out-of-the-grave Jesus wasn’t enough. They needed the enthroned Jesus to blast the Spirit through them like a divine firehose. Exalted to the right hand of God. Acts 2:33, “Exalted to the right hand of God, he has received from the Father the promised Holy Spirit and has poured out what you now see and hear.” Peter didn’t preach “Jesus died for you—now go be nice.” He preached “God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Christ—and He’s currently sitting on the throne pouring out everything you just saw.” Tongues, prophecy, miracles—that’s the enthroned Jesus flexing. If your gospel doesn’t include that, you’re preaching a dead man’s biography instead of a living King’s decree.

We approach a throne, not a torture device. Hebrews 4:16 doesn’t say “come crawling to the cross.” It says come boldly to the throne of grace. Why? Because there’s a Man on it—our Man—who already settled the sin issue and now rules everything for the church (Eph. 1:22). The cross is finished. The grave is empty. The throne is occupied. And—get this—we’re seated there with Him right now (Eph. 2:6). Not “will be someday.” Are seated. Present tense. God has already positioned you above every sickness, demon, and circumstance because you’re in the Son and the Son is on the throne. That’s not hoping to be. You are. The only question is whether you’ll start acting like it or keep groveling like a spiritual orphan.

Sickness Is Satan’s Glory, Not God’s. Jesus saw sickness as Satan’s direct attack on Him, His Father, and His people. So, He smashed it wherever He found it. The only time He didn’t stomp out sickness—which Satan was causing—was when unbelief blocked Him. Think about that: unbelief stopped Jesus, but Satan couldn’t.

If Jesus is currently seated at the right hand of Power—session complete, enemies becoming His footstool (Heb. 10:12-13)—then why are we letting Satan cockblock the saints from the benefits of the atonement? Because too many Christians are still mentally kneeling at an empty cross begging for crumbs when they ought to be seated on a throne commanding mountains to move. The atonement purchased healing; the ascension enforces it. Isaiah 53:4-5 isn’t a suggestion—it’s a paid-in-full receipt. Jesus bore (nasa) our sicknesses the same way He bore our sins. Same word. Same substitution. Same finality. If you’re still sick, it’s not because the bill hasn’t been paid; it’s because you’re refusing to cash the check from the throne room.

People love to quote “by His stripes we are healed” and then act like it’s a nice sentiment instead of a legal reality enforced by the enthroned King. That’s like having a signed presidential pardon in your pocket and still sitting in prison because you “feel guilty.” Feel guilty all you want—Jesus is not on the cross; He is sitting in absolute victory, and He’s made you bone of His bone and flesh of His flesh. Your feelings don’t change the throne’s power to ensure His atonement.

The same goes for every promise. Prosperity? Yes—because the King owns everything, H has already bore our poverty and He has made us co-heirs with Him as a present living reality. Power? Yes—because the One who spoke galaxies into existence now lives in you and has authorized you to use His name like it’s your own (because legally, it is). Miracles? Greater works than Jesus did in His earthly ministry, because now He’s not limited to one body in one location—He’s multiplied Himself in millions of believers worldwide doing greater miracles than Him, all seated with Him far above every power (John 14:12, Eph. 1:21).

Those who deny this stuff aren’t just mistaken—they’re insulting the King on His coronation day. The King has spoken: “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me—therefore go.” Not “go and be barely saved.” Go and disciple nations. Go and heal the sick. Go and cast out demons. Go and raise the dead. Go and speak to mountains until they jump into the sea. This is how the present Jesus rules from this throne (Mark 11:23-24). We believe the King.

The gospel is not Jesus hanging bloody and defeated—it’s Jesus crowned and commanding. It’s not “maybe He’ll help if He’s in a good mood.” It’s “He always helps because He’s already won and He His love for His bride is not measurable. The cross reconciled us; the throne empowers us. The cross saved us from sin; the throne saves us into dominion. If you’re still living like the story ended at Golgotha, you’re reading the Bible with the last chapters ripped out.

All things are yours. Not some things on Sundays if the worship team is on point. All things. Jesus is not pacing heaven worried about your problem—He’s laughing at His enemies (Ps. 2:4) while handing you the keys to the kingdom. Your job is to stop acting like a slave and start acting like royalty.

Stop praying beggar prayers from the foot-of-the-cross theology. Start issuing throne-room decrees from ascended-Christ reality. Speak to cancer, poverty, depression, demons—whatever—and watch reality rearrange itself around the word of the King coming out of your mouth. Not because you have power. Because He has all power and has made you His mouth, His hands, His feet on the earth.

The gospel is Jesus sitting on a throne—and you sitting there with Him, right now, laughing at the devil’s pathetic attempts to cockblock you out of your inheritance. The enthroned Christ isn’t here to comfort you in your unbelief. He’s here to push you into the throne room until you finally realize you’ve been royalty all along.

Welcome to the gospel. The real one. Not the one with a cross as the symbol. But the one with a crown

Our Identification With Christ

We live in a time when too many Christians treat Jesus like a historical figure trapped in the pages of an old book—as if His ministry was a one-and-done spectacle for the crowds in Galilee. But Scripture paints a far different picture: one where our connection to Him is so profound, so ontologically woven into the fabric of reality, that when God looks at us, He sees the exalted Christ. “God did all this to give us unshakable confidence to ask and receive, by showing us how intellectually, relationally, and ontologically we are identified with Jesus” (S.T., page 654). This isn’t some feel-good theology; it’s the bedrock of how we operate in ministry today. Because we’re united with Him—not the earthly Jesus under the law, but the resurrected King pouring out His Spirit—we do the works He did, and even greater, in the same power. Let’s unpack this, drawing straight from God’s Word, and expose the faith-bumblers who’d rather limit God than let Him loose. Limiting God is like trying to cage a cosmic supernova—spoiler: it doesn’t end well for the cage.

Consider the closeness Scripture describes between Jesus and His body, the church. It’s not a loose association, like distant relatives at a family reunion. No, it’s as intimate as a head to its limbs—where the head goes, the arms follow; what empowers one, surges through the other. Paul captures this in Ephesians 2:6, declaring that God “raised us up with Him and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus.” Think about that: right now, in God’s sovereign mind, you’re not scraping by down here; you’re enthroned above every principality, every sickness, every obstacle. This identification means that when God sees you, He sees Jesus. God thinks that right now, I am seated with Jesus in the heavenly places. As Jesus is, so am I in this world. The only reality is the reality that God’s Word creates and sustains. There is no other truth or reality. God thinks I am identified with Jesus, as part of Him. Would God deny Jesus a request? Of course not. Thus, God would not deny me a request, because in God’s mind He considers me as part of Jesus. If we miss this, we mock the gospel, trampling the finished work of Christ as if it left us half-redeemed—not identified with Jesus as part of His body—and limping along until heaven. Frankly, that’s not just bad theology; it’s a cosmic insult, like handing back a gift from the King because you prefer your old rags. Ouch—talk about a divine facepalm.

This union isn’t abstract metaphysics for theologians to debate in ivory towers. It is reality because reality is based on God’s thoughts and words. He considered the old Oshea to have died with Jesus, and a new created Oshea is defined as part of Jesus. By God merely thinking this about me is what creates, shapes, and upholds reality. You cannot get more reality than “God thinks so.” Thus, this has direct implications for ministry. Look at how Jesus Himself operated. In Luke 4:14-19, after His baptism, “Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit to Galilee… He stood up to read… ‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, because He has anointed Me to preach the gospel to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed.’” Here’s the key: Jesus, as a man born under the law (Galatians 4:4), didn’t rely on His divine nature for miracles. He ministered through the anointing of the Holy Spirit, just as Acts 10:38 confirms: “God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power… healing all who were oppressed by the devil.” Even the Son of God modelled dependence on the Spirit’s power for healing, deliverance, and proclamation. Why? Because He was born under the law and operated miracles as a man would; by this, He was the forerunner showing the church how to operate as humans empowered by the Spirit. “Jesus came as a man, born under the law, and even ministered God’s power as a saint does—by the power of the Spirit” (p. 654). He wasn’t flexing inherent deity in isolation; He was demonstrating how Spirit-empowered humanity crushes Satan’s works. Picture Jesus as the ultimate tutorial video: “How to Wreck the Devil’s Plans in Three Easy Steps.”

Now, fast-forward to the ascension. Jesus doesn’t leave us orphaned or downgraded. Instead, He commands the disciples in Acts 1:4-8: “Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the Promise of the Father… for John truly baptized with water, but you shall be baptized with the Holy Spirit… But you shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be witnesses to Me.” This isn’t optional equipment for apostles only—it’s the same Spirit, the same power, poured out on all believers for ministry. Peter echoes this in Acts 2:33, noting that the exalted Jesus “received from the Father the promise of the Holy Spirit” and poured it out. The result? The early church exploded with miracles, healings, and bold proclamation, far beyond what one man in one place could do. “After His resurrection, Jesus commanded the disciples not to minister or spread the news until they were clothed with the same power of the Spirit.” If Jesus needed the Spirit’s anointing to start His ministry, how much more do we? Yet some theologians act like this power fizzled out after the apostles, as if God got bored with miracles. That’s not cessationism; that’s Satanism, limiting the Holy One of Israel like the Israelites did in the wilderness (Psalm 78:41). God bored? As if the Creator of quantum physics and kittens runs out of ideas.

Jesus promised we’d do “greater works” than He did (John 14:12). Not because we’re superior, but because He’s now on the throne, multiplying His power through a global body. In His earthly ministry, He was localized; now, through us, His reach is exponential. “As great as it would be to be identified with Jesus under the law in His earthly miracle ministry, it is still a limitation, because what we have is greater. This is why Jesus promised we would do greater works!” Imagine: the same Spirit that rested on Jesus now rests on you, empowering you to command mountains (Mark 11:23), heal the sick (James 5:15), and cast out demons (Mark 16:17). It’s not arrogance; it’s obedience. Faith isn’t wishing; it’s assenting to God’s definition of reality. When you speak in Jesus’ name, reality bends because you’re so identified with Him that your decree carries His authority. This is true and it is reality because God’s sovereign mind thinks so.

Satan trembles at this, which is why he peddles doctrines that sideline the Spirit—calling miracles “for then, not now,” or faith “presumptuous.” But as Vincent Cheung might say, such views are just human pride masquerading as piety. Critics will cry, “But we’re not Jesus!” Exactly the point—we’re better off now, identified with the glorified One. Paul warns in 2 Corinthians 5:16, “From now on, therefore, we regard no one according to the flesh. Even though we once regarded Christ according to the flesh, we regard him thus no longer.” If you evaluate Jesus—or yourself—from a human viewpoint, you’ll cap God’s power at what your carnal senses perceive. You’ll pray timidly, heal sporadically, and witness anemically. But embrace your union: you’re a new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17), co-heir with Christ (Romans 8:17), partaker of the divine nature (2 Peter 1:4). This means ministry isn’t imitation; it’s reality based on how God’s sovereign mind thinks about His own creation. Heal like Jesus did—lay hands, command sickness to flee—because the Spirit’s power flows through you as it did Him. Preach with authority, knowing demons flee at His name through your lips. And yes, expect greater: more salvations, more miracles, across more territory. “The power of the Spirit is so contested by many… When Jesus on His throne becomes central, the baptism of the Spirit for power becomes central” (S.T., page 399).

The same Spirit who empowers also convicts of sin (John 16:8). But what was the sin the Spirit comes to convict the world of? All? No. The Spirit’s ministry is to convict the world of the sin of unbelief—because they do not believe in Jesus. They do not believe He is God’s Son. And because they do not believe He is God’s Son, they do not believe the things He preached and did. What are some things Jesus said? “Jesus answered, ‘Truly I tell you, if anyone says to this mountain, “Go, throw yourself into the sea,” and does not doubt in their heart but believes that what they say will happen, it will be done for them. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours’” (Mark 11:23-24). The Spirit comes to convict us of the greatest sin, which started with Satan’s temptation to Eve: “Did God really say?” It is the sin that leads and opens the door to all other sins. It is the defining sin of the faithless; they refuse to believe God and they refuse to believe Jesus Christ.

Unbelief stopped Jesus in Nazareth (Mark 6:5-6), not besetting sins and not Satan. If sickness lingers or prayers seem unanswered, it’s not God’s will changing—it’s our faith needing sharpening, or perhaps a fresh infilling of the Spirit’s power. Pray in the Spirit (Jude 1:20), building yourself up in God’s love. “Sickness is Satan’s victory lap. Jesus did not just patch up boo-boos; He threw haymakers at the devil’s disease factory” (Systematic Theology, page 648). Join the fight; wield the power. Because who doesn’t love a good spiritual smackdown?

Look at how Jesus kicked off His Galilean ministry in Luke 4:14-15—He returned “in the power of the Spirit,” and suddenly news spread like wildfire, with Him teaching in synagogues and getting glorified by everyone. This isn’t some vague spiritual high; it’s raw, divine dynamite exploding into action. Jesus, as a man born under the law, didn’t launch His world-shaking work until after His baptism, when the Spirit descended like a dove and empowered Him to heal, cast out demons, and preach with authority that left jaws on the floor. The Holy Spirit wasn’t just tagging along; He was the engine, turning Jesus’ steps into a kingdom invasion that demolished Satan’s strongholds. And here’s the kicker—Jesus didn’t hog this power. In Acts 1:8, He promises His followers the same deal: “You shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you,” turning ordinary folks into unstoppable witnesses from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth. This isn’t optional fluff; it’s the blueprint for Christian life. If we’re co-heirs with Christ, why settle for powerless piety when the Spirit’s ready to supercharge us for miracles and bold proclamation? God’s not stingy—He’s lavishing this power on anyone hungry enough to receive it. Without the Spirit’s baptism, we’re just playing church while the devil throws a party.

The faithless treat this power like an ancient relic gathering dust in some theological museum, when Scripture screams it’s for now. Jesus returned in the Spirit’s power after fasting and facing down Satan, emerging not weakened but weaponized for ministry—teaching that silenced critics and healings that restored the broken. That same Spirit, poured out at Pentecost, isn’t a one-time fireworks show; it’s the ongoing promise for Abraham’s kids through faith (Galatians 3:14). When Acts 1:8 hits, it’s Jesus saying, “Wait for the download—then go conquer.” This power isn’t about flashy showmanship; it’s God’s sovereignty flexing through us, making the impossible routine. Think about it: if Jesus needed the Spirit’s anointing to crush the devil’s works (Acts 10:38), how much more do we? Yet, some peddle a gutless gospel, ignoring this dynamite because it messes with their unbelief. Nah, the Spirit’s power is our birthright—grab it, and watch reality bend as we advance the kingdom, just like our Lord did. Anything less is selling short the God who turns water-walkers into world-changers. Pro tip: Don’t be the guy who brings a squirt gun to a divine water fight.

In closing, our identification with Christ isn’t a doctrine to shelve; it’s dynamite for daily living. Because we’re one with Him, we minister in the same way—Spirit-anointed, faith-fueled—and with the same power, only amplified. Don’t know Him from a human viewpoint anymore; know Him as the enthroned Lord, and yourself as seated there too. Speak to storms, sickness, and souls; watch heaven invade earth. If that sounds radical, then it exposes that your heart is hard. As Scripture says regarding the disciples’ surprise at Jesus’ miracles: they were surprised “because they did not consider the loaves.” Jesus expected them to extrapolate the miracle of multiplication of material substance to be a regular activity. Their inability to see miracles as common and regular indicated their hearts were as hard as stone. Let us cast off any stony parts of our hearts and put on a heart of faith and the Spirit. Miracles, the Spirit, and healing are the gospel. And if critics scoff, well, they’re just cheering for the wrong team in this cosmic showdown. Don’t wash your hands with them, unless you wish to partake of their judgment.

How to Authenticate You are a Moron

Let’s get straight to the heart of the matter, because dancing around defective doctrine only gives it more room to spread like a theological weed. The idea that miracles were merely signs to authenticate Jesus’ message—and that they’ve since packed up and left the building once the canon closed—is not just misguided; it’s intellectually bankrupt, biblically incoherent, and frankly, a bit embarrassing for anyone claiming to handle Scripture with care. If the gospel message is brimming with promises of physical healing, deliverance from oppression, and the unleashing of resurrected power through faith, then how on earth does it make sense to say the signs pointing to that message deliver more substance than the message itself? It’s like advertising a feast with mouthwatering samples, only to serve up empty plates at the main event. The authentication would end up wielding more power than the finished atonement or even Jesus Himself, seated in glory at the Father’s right hand. That’s not divine logic; that’s nonsense on stilts, the kind that makes you wonder if some theologians skipped the class on basic reasoning.

Consider this: the miracles Jesus performed weren’t roadside billboards meant to fade into irrelevance once the destination was reached. They were previews of the kingdom’s reality, embodying the very essence of the atonement’s victory over sin, sickness, and Satan. Isaiah 53:4-5 doesn’t mince words—Jesus bore our infirmities and carried our diseases, a truth Matthew 8:17 applies directly to physical healing during Jesus’ ministry. Peter echoes it in 1 Peter 2:24, linking those stripes to our wholeness. If these acts were just to confirm the message, but the completed work of the cross somehow provides less healing—or hitches it to some mysterious “will of God” lottery even when faith is locked in—then the signs overshadow the substance. The pointer becomes mightier than the pointed-to, the herald greater than the king. In “Sickness Is Satan’s Glory, Not God’s,” I explain: “In the substitutionary atonement, Jesus took 39 stripes in exchange for our healing. It is already done. In the Father’s mind, He decided our sicknesses were taken off us and put on Jesus as those 39 stripes. Jesus carried our sickness in our place.” If the authenticating miracles promised healing but the finished product withholds it, we’re left with a gospel that’s all sizzle and no steak—a cruel joke that dishonors the risen Christ’s authority.

And if that reversal wasn’t absurd enough, the cessationist claim commits a glaring logical fallacy, one that’s as transparent as it is sloppy. Arguing that miracles were only for authenticating the apostolic message and thus ceased once the Bible was complete is like saying, “All dinosaurs are animals. All dinosaurs have ceased to exist. Therefore, all animals have ceased to exist.” It’s the classic error of composition and division, assuming that because some miracles served a confirmatory role (like in Acts 2:22, where Peter notes Jesus was “attested to you by God with miracles, wonders, and signs”), all miracles must be pigeonholed into that category and then vanish wholesale. But Scripture never draws such a narrow boundary. Miracles aren’t a monolithic bloc; they’re multifaceted expressions of God’s power, often untethered from authentication. In John 14:12, Jesus promises that believers will do His works and greater ones simply because they believe—not as signs for a message, but as the fruit of faith in Him. This has nothing to do with canon closure or apostolic credentials; it’s about ongoing discipleship. In “Ultimate Stupid Cessationist Arguments #1m” it says “For sake of argument, let us say sign gifts have ceased. So what? What logical relevance does that have to do with healing and miracles on demand of faith. It has no connection whatsoever. Just because a pizza does not have olives, does not mean it stops being a pizza.”

This fallacy isn’t just academic nitpicking—it’s a direct assault on the gospel’s fullness. Abraham’s blessing, as Paul unpacks in Galatians 3, shatters the notion that miracles were mere temporary props. The promise to Abraham wasn’t a fleeting endorsement; it was an eternal covenant of abundant increase, including supernatural favor, health, and victory over curses. Jesus became the curse for us (Galatians 3:13) precisely to unlock this blessing for all who believe, complete with the Spirit’s power for miracles (Galatians 3:5,14). It’s not about confirming a message but about God being God—faithful, unchanging, and extravagantly generous. In Luke 13:16, Jesus declares healing “necessary” for the bent-over woman because she was Abraham’s daughter, not because it authenticated anything. Satan bound her, but the covenant demanded her freedom. Similarly, to the Syrophoenician woman in Matthew 15:28, healing is “children’s bread”—daily sustenance for covenant heirs, not a one-off sign. As I emphasize in Systematic Theology 2025 under “The Structure or Thesis for this Systematic Theology Book,” the gospel’s logic flows from God’s self-authenticating truth: “If God has revealed a self-authenticating first principle with substantial truth for all of life… then all things are possible for the one who believes.” Miracles aren’t add-ons; they’re the natural outworking of God’s fidelity to His word.

To peddle cessationism as if miracles were disposable training wheels is to limit the Holy One of Israel, much like the Israelites did in the wilderness, confessing defeat before giants instead of claiming promised land. It’s faith-fumbling at its finest, staining hands with the blood of unbelief: “For those who taught you bad doctrine and didn’t repent or back off, may their hands stay stained with your blood—along with all who peddle unbelief—on judgment day, before the Son who sits at the right hand of Power.” If God swore by Himself to bless Abraham’s seed (Hebrews 6:13-18), and that blessing includes the Spirit’s miraculous empowerment, who are we to declare it expired? Paul curses any gospel that deviates from this (Galatians 1:8-9), and rightly so. Miracles persist because God persists—being Himself, faithful to His oath. Anything less turns the Almighty into a cosmic bait-and-switch artist, promising power but delivering powerlessness. That’s not the God I serve; that’s a caricature born of defective theology.

In wrapping this up, remember that the New Covenant amplifies, not diminishes, the old promises. We’re not limping along in a miracle drought; we’re seated with Christ in heavenly places (Ephesians 2:6), wielding His name like a sledgehammer against every stronghold. God wants to give more than you want to receive. When we are sick, we need to have a relentless focus on our healing, on the word of God about healing day and night… Sickness is from the devil, it is a curse of the law and Jesus started to demolish it in His ministry and has commanded all His disciples to continue this battle. Cessationism doesn’t just err; it robs saints of their inheritance, sidelining them with sickness Satan has no right to inflict. Embrace Abraham’s gospel in full, and watch mountains move at faith’s command. After all, if the signs were that potent, imagine what the substance unleashes.

Claim Your Daily Bread

The notion that Jesus’ miracles—or those of the apostles—were merely signposts to authenticate the gospel message is a theological sleight of hand that crumbles under scrutiny. It’s a convenient excuse for those who prefer a powerless Christianity, but it doesn’t hold water when you pour in the full context of Scripture. If miracles were only for validation, why did Jesus tie them so inextricably to the core of the good news? Think about it: the gospel proclaims that “by His stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5, as Peter echoes in 1 Peter 2:24) and that Jesus “took away our sicknesses” (Matthew 8:17, quoting Isaiah 53:4). Jesus didn’t perform healings as some divine footnote; He used them to embody and confirm the very essence of salvation—a total rescue from sin’s curse, including disease and demonic oppression. To suggest that these miracles evaporate once the message is “authenticated” is laughable. It’s like Jesus waving a banner of healing to draw folks in, only to yank it away post-conversion, saying, “Just kidding—now suffer for My glory.” That’s not the God of the Bible; that’s a bait-and-switch straight from devil dogmatic playbook.

Jesus’ ministry was a demolition derby against sickness and devils, not a one-time spectacle. He healed multitudes, cast out demons, and raised the dead as previews of the kingdom’s power breaking in. The apostles continued the rampage, with signs and wonders marking their steps (Acts 5:12-16, 19:11-12). If these were just credentials, why command believers to do the same—and greater (John 14:12)? Why include healing in the Great Commission (Mark 16:17-18)? The gospel isn’t a historical artifact; it’s living power for today. It is “living power” as Jesus Christ is living power sitting at the right hand of Power, pouring out the power of the Spirit. Now Denying ongoing miracles isn’t humble theology; it’s unbelief masquerading as piety, limiting the Holy One of Israel just like the wilderness wanderers did, “oh no, we are to small and they are too big.” If healing was only for authentication, the gospel would be half-baked, promising deliverance from sickness but delivering excuses. No, the miracles confirm a gospel that includes healing as a core benefit, not an optional add-on.

Moving beyond that tired error, we hit the heart of the matter: the doctrine of Abraham’s blessing, sealed by Jesus’ blood. This isn’t some peripheral perk; it’s the gospel Paul defends with fire in Galatians. In Galatians 3, Paul hammers home that the promise to Abraham—”all nations will be blessed through him” (Genesis 12:3)—is fulfilled in Christ. Jesus became the curse for us, redeeming us from the law’s penalties (Galatians 3:13-14), so that “the blessing given to Abraham” comes to the Gentiles through faith. What is that blessing? Abundant increase in all things—land, descendants, victory over enemies, and yes, supernatural provision, including health and miracles. Paul doesn’t leave it vague; he ties it directly to the Spirit: “so that by faith we might receive the promise of the Spirit” (Galatians 3:14). And what does the Spirit bring? Miracles, healings, prophecies—the works of power that marked Abraham’s covenant life.

But here’s the question that exposes the wafflers: how much miracles and healing does Abraham’s gospel guarantee? Is it a sprinkle here and there, a “maybe if it’s God’s will” lottery ticket, even when faith is firing on all cylinders? Absolutely not. Scripture paints a picture of abundance, not scarcity. Consider Jesus’ encounter with the Canaanite woman in Matthew 15:21-28. She’s begging for her daughter’s deliverance from a demon—essentially a healing from torment. Jesus initially deflects, saying, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.” Bread? Not some fancy dessert for special occasions, but bread—the staple, the daily necessity. Healing, in Jesus’ words, is the children’s bread, meant for Abraham’s offspring. The woman persists in faith, and Jesus commends her: “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.” Her daughter is healed instantly. No hesitation, no “let’s see if it’s My will today.” Rather, Jesus does an opposite faith confession: he doesn’t confess by saying, “God’s will be done,” No, He confesses, “Woman your will be done.”

Jesus doubles down in Luke 13:10-17 with the woman bent over for eighteen years. He calls her forward on the Sabbath, lays hands on her, and declares, “Woman, you are set free from your infirmity.” When the synagogue leader gripes about the timing, Jesus retorts: “Should not this woman, a daughter of Abraham, whom Satan has kept bound for eighteen long years, be set free on the Sabbath day from what bound her?” Notice: it’s “necessary” (as some translations render the implication) for her to be healed because she’s Abraham’s daughter. Not optional, not probabilistic—necessary. Sickness is Satan’s chain, not God’s tool. Jesus didn’t quiz her on repentance or catalog her sins; He saw her Abraham covenant status and that alone made it necessary to heal her. This is the same Jesus who healed all who came to Him (Matthew 8:16, 12:15; Luke 6:19), rejecting none except where unbelief blocked the flow (Mark 6:5-6). Despite the crowds’ many flaws—sins unconfessed, hearts divided—faith was the key, and healing flowed like manna in the desert.

This isn’t hyperbole; it’s the pattern. Jesus healed relentlessly, embodying the Father’s heart for wholeness. In the gospel of Abraham, now ours through Jesus’ curse-bearing death, miracles aren’t rare treats but daily sustenance. Paul makes it plain in Galatians 3:5: “He who supplies the Spirit to you and works miracles among you—does He do it by works of the law, or by hearing with faith?” Miracles are the norm for faith-filled heirs, as average as breakfast. This means in context of the New Testament Galatians church in Galatians 3, the amount of the Spirit’s power and miracles Paul was referring to, was substantial, and it was based on Abraham’s gospel. This also destroys any attempt to say sign miracles have ceased therefore regular healings and miracles have ceased. Such as stance is blasphemy and deserves immediate curses, and excommunication. The healings and miracles we have been reviewing are about God fulling His old promise to Abraham, not to prove or authenticate something. Those are two different categories, and to be so stupid to confuse the two is a sign of God’s reprobation on you. Logically it is the same as saying, “Dinosaurs are animals. Dinosaurs are ceased. Therefore, animals have ceased.”

To say healing is a cosmic lotto, hit-or-miss even with mountain-moving faith—is to peddle a different gospel. Paul doesn’t mince words: “If anybody is preaching to you a gospel other than what you accepted, let them be under God’s curse!” (Galatians 1:9). Those who dilute the promise, chalking up unanswered prayers to “God’s mysterious will” rather than our need for undiluted faith, deserve the same rejection. They’re not protecting sovereignty; they’re peddling unbelief, complicit in letting Satan sideline saints with sickness.

This isn’t about earning miracles through perfect behavior. Abraham’s blessing is by faith, not merit, just as justification is. Jesus didn’t demand spotless lives from those He healed; He demanded faith in His willingness and power. In our New Covenant, superior to the old (Hebrews 8:6), the Spirit empowers us for even greater works. Sickness isn’t God’s autograph on our lives; it’s the enemy’s graffiti, defacing Jesus’ body, His temple. As co-heirs with Christ (Romans 8:17), we inherit the world—all things are ours (1 Corinthians 3:21-23). That includes health, provision, and victory over every curse. If you’re Abraham’s child by faith (Galatians 3:7), claim your bread daily. Meditate on the promises relentlessly, confess them boldly. Unbelief might whisper “not today,” but faith shouts back with Jesus: “Your faith has healed you—go in peace” (Luke 8:48).

In the end, this gospel of abundant miracles isn’t optional fluff; it’s the power of God for salvation in full (Romans 1:16). Reject the naysayers who shrink it to fit their experience rather than expanding their faith to match God’s Word. Curse that different gospel, as Paul commands, and embrace the one secured by Jesus’ blood—one where healing flows as freely as grace itself. After all, if God gave us His Son, won’t He freely give us all things (Romans 8:32)? That’s not a question; it’s a promise. Grab your loaf and eat up.

The Gospel is God Showing Off, Not Man

The stark contrast between the gospel’s essence and the mindset of the faithless religious crowd couldn’t be clearer, like night refusing to mingle with day. In the Lord’s Supper, we witness God’s extravagant generosity on full display—He pours out righteousness, healing, wealth, and peace without demanding a dime from us, as if to say, “Watch Me lavish My riches on you, because that’s who I am.” Jesus doesn’t hand us a bill for His broken body or spilled blood; instead, He declares, “This is for you,” echoing the one-way flow from Isaiah 53 where He bears our griefs and carries our pains, swapping our curses for His blessings. The faithless, however, flip this divine script upside down, strutting like peacocks in their self-imposed sufferings, boasting about what they “give” to God as if their meager, self-inflicted sufferings, sicknesses and sacrifices could impress the Almighty. They twist communion into a showcase of their piety—enduring sickness as “God’s will” or poverty as proof of devotion—forgetting that such posturing mocks the cross, where God did all the giving so we could freely receive.

This inversion isn’t just a minor theological hiccup; it’s a worldview war, pitting God’s sovereign supply against man’s arrogant striving. Scripture hammers this home in Romans 5, where God demonstrates His love by dying for us while we were still powerless enemies, not waiting for us to scrape together some spiritual currency. The religious types, peddling their “sacrifices” like vendors at a flea market, essentially claim God needs their input to be glorified, as if the Creator of the universe relies on our loneliness or pain to pad His resume. But Ephesians 2 flips that delusion: We’re saved by grace through faith, not works, so no one can boast—God gets all the glory for the rescue operation. The faithless cling to their “contributions,” finding God “useful” only as a platform for their ego trips, while the gospel invites us to revel in His usefulness to us, paying every bill and piling on blessings. It’s like showing up to a royal banquet and insisting on washing dishes to “earn” your seat—what a comical insult to the King’s hospitality.

Dig deeper, and the contrast exposes a rotten core in the religious facade: They honor God with lips but hearts far from Him, as Jesus quotes Isaiah in Matthew 15, substituting human traditions for divine commands. God’s showing off in communion reminds us we’re recipients, not donors—He enriches us with Abraham’s blessings in Galatians 3, not because we tithe our way to favor, but because Christ redeemed us from the curse. The faithless, meanwhile, parade their “giving” as if suffering rejection or upheaval somehow blesses God, ignoring that He endured those for us so we could enjoy acceptance and peace. This fundamental clash boils down to humility versus hubris: Embrace God’s lavish giving, or cling to your “sacrifices” and miss the feast—after all, who turns down infinite upgrades from the ultimate Provider?

When we gather around the Lord’s table, breaking bread and lifting the cup, it’s not a somber ritual of our meager offerings to Him—it’s a vivid reminder of His boundless giving to us. As I’ve emphasized in my systematic theology, the gospel isn’t a transaction where we scrape together scraps to appease a distant deity; it’s God lavishing His riches on undeserving sinners, making us heirs to blessings that stagger the imagination. Picture it: God, the ultimate showman, orchestrating the cross not just to forgive but to flood us with health, wealth, peace, and power—all sealed in Christ’s blood. Communion verses drive this home, flipping the script on the faithless who twist it into a showcase of human sacrifice. With a wink of divine irony, it’s as if God says, “Watch this,” and unleashes a cascade of goodies we could never earn.

Start with the foundational scene in 1 Corinthians 11:23-26 (NLT): “For I pass on to you what I received from the Lord himself. On the night when he was betrayed, the Lord Jesus took some bread and gave thanks to God for it. Then he broke it in pieces and said, ‘This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ In the same way, he took the cup of wine after supper, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant between God and his people—an agreement confirmed with my blood. Do this in remembrance of me as often as you drink it.’ For every time you eat this bread and drink this cup, you are announcing the Lord’s death until he comes again.” Paul doesn’t frame this as our pious duty to God but as a proclamation of what Christ has done—His body broken and blood spilled as the ultimate act of divine generosity. The focus isn’t on our remembrance as a work we perform; it’s on Christ’s self-giving, activating the new covenant where God pledges to be our God and us His people (Hebrews 8:10). This isn’t mutual back-scratching; it’s God initiating, funding, and fulfilling every promise, from forgiveness to flourishing.

Deductively, if the gospel is rooted in substitutionary atonement—where Christ bears our curses so we inherit His blessings—then communion celebrates this one-way flow from heaven to earth. Isaiah 53:4-5 (NLT) lays it bare: “Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down… He was beaten so we could be whole. He was whipped so we could be healed.” Here, the prophet doesn’t depict us clambering up to God with offerings; instead, Christ shoulders our infirmities, exchanging His wholeness for our brokenness. Matthew 8:17 applies this directly to physical healing during Jesus’ ministry, confirming it’s no metaphor—Christ’s stripes secure our health as surely as His blood our pardon. Galatians 3:13-14 extends this to the broader Abrahamic blessing: “But Christ has rescued us from the curse pronounced by the law. When he was hung on the cross, he took upon himself the curse for our wrongdoing… Through Christ Jesus, God has blessed the Gentiles with the same blessing he promised to Abraham, so that we who are believers might receive the promised Holy Spirit through faith.” Paul calls this exchange the gospel preached to Abraham—miracles, the Spirit’s power, and prosperity flowing freely, not earned by our sweat but gifted through Christ’s sacrifice. To partake in communion is to affirm this reality: God shows off by supplying what we lack, turning paupers into princes without a dime from our pockets.

Contrast this with the upside-down worldview of the faithless and religious, who peddle a gospel of human striving. They love to parade their sacrifices—enduring sickness as “God’s will,” scraping by in poverty to prove piety, or boasting in loneliness as spiritual badge. But as John 15:16 (NLT) declares, “You didn’t choose me. I chose you. I appointed you to go and produce lasting fruit, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask for, using my name.” Jesus doesn’t summon us to grovel; He appoints us to ask and receive, echoing the Father’s love mirrored in His own. The religious flip this, imagining God delights in our offerings more than His. It’s like showing up to a feast hosted by a billionaire and insisting on washing dishes to “earn” your seat. 1 John 4:10 (NLT) nails it: “This is real love—not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins.” The faithless invert this, making communion a somber tally of their deeds, but Scripture insists it’s God’s showcase: He loved first, gave first, and keeps giving without tally.

Romans 5:6-10 (NLT) amplifies this divine extravagance: “When we were utterly helpless, Christ came at just the right time and died for us sinners. Now, most people would not be willing to die for an upright person, though someone might perhaps be willing to die for a person who is especially good. But God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners. And since we have been made right in God’s sight by the blood of Christ, he will certainly save us from God’s condemnation. For since our friendship with God was restored by the death of his Son while we were still his enemies, we will certainly be saved through the life of his Son.” Here, Paul doesn’t spotlight our repentance or works; he spotlights God’s initiative—dying for enemies to make them friends, reconciling while we rebelled. This isn’t quid pro quo; it’s God overwhelming our helplessness with His abundance. In communion, we proclaim this death, not as a dirge for our failings, but as triumph over them—God’s love proven in blood, guaranteeing “how much more” we’ll receive now as reconciled heirs.

Yet, the religious mindset recoils, fearing such grace cheapens holiness. They cling to a theology where suffering showcases their devotion, but 2 Corinthians 8:9 (NLT) dismantles that: “You know the generous grace of our Lord Jesus Christ. Though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty you could become rich.” Paul ties this directly to financial generosity, urging the Corinthians to give from abundance secured by Christ’s impoverishment. It’s not our poverty glorifying God; it’s His supply enabling us to be rich, so that in our wealth we can both be blessed and fund His kingdom. Isaiah 53:5 extends this to peace: “The punishment that brought us peace was on him.” Christ absorbed chaos so we inherit shalom—wholeness in body, mind, and circumstances. Begging for peace amid turmoil mocks this exchange; faith claims it as done. The faithless, by contrast, parade endurance as virtue, but that’s human showing off, not God’s. As if God needs our grit to shine—He’s the star, we’re the beneficiaries.

John 15:9-15 (NLT) weaves love, joy, and answered prayer into this tapestry: “I have loved you even as the Father has loved me. Remain in my love… I have told you these things so that you will be filled with my joy. Yes, your joy will overflow! This is my commandment: Love each other in the same way I have loved you. There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command… You didn’t choose me. I chose you. I appointed you to go and produce lasting fruit, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask for, using my name.” Jesus doesn’t demand we earn His love; He pours it out, commanding us to abide in it for overflowing joy. Friendship with God isn’t forged by our sacrifices but His—laying down life for us. The fruit? Answered prayers, not as reward for our efforts but as evidence of His choosing. Communion echoes this: We remember His laying down, not ours, receiving joy and provision as appointed heirs.

In 2 Corinthians 5:14-21 (NLT), Paul underscores reconciliation as God’s initiative: “For the love of Christ controls us… And he died for all, so that we who receive God’s new life will no longer live for ourselves. Instead, we will live for Christ… This means that anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun! And all of this is a gift from God, who brought us back to himself through Christ… For God made Christ, who never sinned, to be the offering for our sin, so that we could be made right with God through Christ.” The new creation isn’t our makeover project; it’s God’s gift, swapping our sin for His righteousness. No room for self-flagellation here—God reconciled the world to Himself, not counting sins against us. Communion proclaims this death, celebrating the swap that makes us whole, not wallowing in what’s already buried.

Leviticus 26:6-12 (NLT) foreshadows this in covenant language: “I will give you peace in the land, and you will be able to sleep with no cause for fear… I will look favorably upon you, making you fertile and multiplying your people. And I will fulfill my covenant with you… I will walk among you; I will be your God, and you will be my people.” God doesn’t promise peace as our achievement; He grants it, fulfilling His covenant through Christ. The faithless invert this, enduring fear as spiritual discipline, but that’s demonic sleight-of-hand. God is showing off peace now.

Hebrews 9-10 ties it to Christ’s once-for-all sacrifice: “Under the old covenant, the priest stands and ministers before the altar day after day, offering the same sacrifices again and again, which can never take away sins. But our High Priest offered himself to God as a single sacrifice for sins, good for all time. Then he sat down in the place of honor at God’s right hand… For by that one offering he forever made perfect those who are being made holy” (Hebrews 10:11-14 NLT). No endless striving—Christ’s offering perfects us, activating the new covenant where God writes laws on hearts and remembers sins no more. Communion isn’t reliving guilt; it’s rejoicing in perfection already secured.

In conclusion, communion verses paint the gospel as God’s grand spectacle of giving—righteousness, healing, wealth, peace—all flowing from Christ’s cross to us. The religious, with their self-showcasing sacrifices, peddle a counterfeit, but Scripture demands we receive boldly, glorifying God by enjoying His bounty. As Romans 5:11 (NLT) sums it: “So now we can rejoice in our wonderful new relationship with God because our Lord Jesus Christ has made us friends of God.” God shows off by friending enemies. Lift the cup, break the bread, and revel in His generosity. After all, who turns down a divine upgrade?

Communion Verses

Below is a common list of verses I go over before communion.

(1 Corinthians 11)
For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread,  and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, 

“This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.”

 In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, 

“This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” 

 For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.

 (John 15)
If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you want and it will be done for you. 

 “Just as the Father has loved me, I also have loved you. … I have spoken these things to you in order that my joy may be in you, and your joy may be made complete. …  No one has greater love than this: that someone lay down his life for his friends.  You are my friends…
 You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit, and your fruit should remain, in order that whatever you ask the Father in my name he will give you.

(John 4)
 In this is love: not that we have loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.

  
And we have come to know and have believed the love that God has in us. God is love, and the one who resides in love resides in God, and God resides in him.  

By this love is perfected with us, so that we may have confidence in the day of judgment, because just as that one is, so also are we in this world.  There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear..


(Romans 5)
You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God’s wrath through him!  For if, while we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life! 

(1 Corinthians 1)
Therefore does the one who gives you the Spirit and who works miracles among you do so by the works of the law, or by the hearing of faith?

 Just as Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him for righteousness,  then understand that the ones who have faith[a], these are sons of Abraham. And the scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the Gentiles by faith, proclaimed the good news in advance to Abraham: “In you all the nations will be blessed.” So then, the ones who have faith are blessed together with Abraham who believed…

Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, because it is written, “Cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree,” in order that the blessing of Abraham might come to the Gentiles in Christ Jesus, so that we might receive the promise of the Spirit through faith.

 But of Him you are in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God—and righteousness and sanctification and redemption— that, as it is written, “He who glories, let him glory in the Lord.

(Isaiah 53) 
Surely He has borne our griefs (sicknesses, weaknesses, and distresses) and carried our sorrows and pains [of punishment], yet we [ignorantly] considered Him stricken, smitten, and afflicted by God [as if with leprosy].But He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our guilt and iniquities; the chastisement [needful to obtain] peace and well-being for us was upon Him, and with the stripes [that wounded] Him we are healed and made whole.

For He shall bear [the responsibility for] their sins.

Yet He Himself bore and took away the sin of many,
And interceded [with the Father] for the transgressors.

(Isaiah 54)
If anyone attacks you, it’s none of my doing.
    Whoever attacks you will fall because of you.

 No weapon fashioned against you will succeed,
    and you may condemn every tongue that disputes with you.
This is the inheritance of the Lord’s servants,
    whose righteousness comes from me.

(Hebrews 9-10)
For by the power of the eternal Spirit, Christ offered himself to God as a perfect sacrifice for our sins. 

The will goes into effect only after the person’s death.

Then he said, “This blood confirms the covenant God has made with you.”

If they could have provided perfect cleansing, the sacrifices would have stopped, for the worshipers would have been purified once for all time, and their feelings of guilt would have disappeared.

(Hebrews 10)
But this is the new covenant I will make
    
I will put my laws in their minds,
    and I will write them on their hearts.
I will be their God,
    and they will be my people…’
For everyone, will already know me.
 And I will forgive their wickedness,
    and I will never again remember their sins.”

But our High Priest offered himself to God as a single sacrifice for sins, good for all time.
Then he sat down in the place of honor at God’s right hand. 
There he waits until his enemies are humbled and made a footstool under his feet. 
For by that one offering he forever made perfect those who are being made holy.

(2 Corinthians 5)
And he died for all, in order that those who live should no longer live for themselves, but for the one who died for them and was raised.

So then, from now on we know no one from a human point of view, if indeed we have known Christ from a human point of view, but now we know him this way no longer.  

Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old things have passed away; behold, new things have come.  

And all these things are from God, who has reconciled us to himself through Christ, …God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, …

  He made the one who did not know sin to be sin on our behalf, in order that we could become the righteousness of God in him.

 (2  Corinthians 8-9)
For you are recognizing [more clearly] the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ [His astonishing kindness, His generosity, His gracious favor], that though He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, so that by His poverty you might become rich (abundantly blessed).  
And God is able to make all grace [every favor and earthly blessing] come in abundance to you, so that you may always [under all circumstances, regardless of the need] have complete sufficiency in everything [being completely self-sufficient in Him], and have an abundance for every good work and act of charity.

(Levitus 26)
“‘I will grant peace in the land, and you will lie down and no one will make you afraid. I will remove wild beasts from the land, and the sword will not pass through your country. You will pursue your enemies, and they will fall by the sword before you. Five of you will chase a hundred, and a hundred of you will chase ten thousand, and your enemies will fall by the sword before you.

“‘I will look on you with favor and make you fruitful and increase your numbers, and I will keep my covenant with you. You will still be eating last year’s harvest when you will have to move it out to make room for the new. I will put my dwelling place among you, and I will not abhor you.  I will walk among you and be your God, and you will be my people.  I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt so that you would no longer be slaves to the Egyptians; I broke the bars of your yoke and enabled you to walk with heads held high.

Seeing Jesus Is Seeing The Father

John 14:9 “Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father.”

This is not a warm fuzzy or a theological footnote; it is the hinge on which everything turns. It is seeing God. It is God. Because this is God, you cannot get more God centered than God. Every step Jesus took, every command He barked at disease, every miracle that left crowds speechless; these are the Father’s fingerprints. When you read the Gospels’ testimony of what Jesus did, two things dominate the record more than His sermons: healing the sick and working miracles. That is not coincidence. That is revelation. When you see Jesus healing and providing miracles more than sermons, you see God. You get a revelation about who God is. Buckle your seat belt, because it doesn’t get more God centered than this.

God is a healer by nature, not by contract or mood swing. Jesus healing, and healing and healing shows us God. To claim He will not heal when we ask is to call the Son a liar and to deny that seeing Him is seeing the Father. Jesus always healed, despite all those people having their own sins. He still healed them all. He spent more time restoring bodies than expounding parables. That is Jesus. Because that is Jesus, that is the Father.

As Vincent Cheung said in the essay, “Healing and God’s Nature,”

“No one insists that a man must hear the gospel only from someone who carries a gift of evangelism. The gospel carries power by its own divine content, because it reveals the nature and work of God in Christ. Likewise, healing does not wait upon the presence of some charismatic specialist, nor does it depend on the operation of revelatory signs to prove Scripture. It belongs to the same redemptive reality as the forgiveness of sins. The Lord is the healer, as much as he is the savior, judge, or provider. He acts from who he is. God does not work justice only when there is new revelation that he must authenticate. Justice is who he is. And God does not provide only when it is tied to some special promise or covenant. He revealed himself as the Lord who provides and who gives the power to get wealth. Prosperity is who he is. He is not made to become something he is not by a covenant. These are expressions of his very being. He is the one who is, before all covenants and promises, and what he is cannot be canceled by human tradition or theological deceit.”

Look at the Gospels. Luke 4:18-19 is Jesus’ mission statement—preaching good news, liberty to captives, sight to the blind, freedom to the oppressed. Then the text explodes: demons flee, fevers vanish, lepers are cleansed, the dead stand up. He could have camped in synagogues dissecting doctrine, but He moved from village to village, touching the untouchable, commanding paralysis to pack its bags. Why the obsession? Jesus was showing us the Father. “If you see me, you see the Father.” Satan victimizes through sickness (Acts 10:38), but the Father counters with healing and miracles. Every restored body is the Father dismantling the devil’s work.

If healing were optional, Jesus wasted daylight; but since it is central to God being God, those miracles were the message. Because the message comes from God and healing is God, the message is about healing, and so, a few signs will be used to authenticate this message, which is about healing. If the gospel message is brimming with promises of physical healing, deliverance from oppression, and the unleashing of resurrected power through faith, then how on earth does it make sense to say the signs pointing to that message deliver more substance than the message itself? It’s like advertising a feast with mouthwatering samples, only to serve up empty plates at the main event. The authentication would end up wielding more power than the finished atonement or even Jesus Himself, seated in glory at the Father’s right hand. The pointer becomes mightier than the pointed-to finished gospel, and the king’s banner, greater than the king himself. If the healing authenticating miracles promised healing but the finished product withholds it, we’re left with a gospel that’s all sizzle and no steak—a cruel joke that only Satan could have conceived. (And this is beside the point that Abraham’s gospel and Jesus’ atonement makes such reasoning a fallacy of composition.)

God revealed Himself as “The Lord who Heals you,” Exodus 15:26. In this verse, God reveals Himself as the Healer to the Israelites after they experienced bitter water at Marah, promising to keep them from the diseases of the Egyptians if they obey His commandments. It was directly and originally about physical healing, not some mystical spiritual healing. He is the God who heals you. God is healer, as God is the Word, or God is Love, or God is Power. Healing is who God is.

This flows straight from the atonement. Isaiah 53:4-5 is blunt: “Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering… by his wounds we are healed.” Matthew 8:17 nails this as physical healing to Jesus’ ministry—He carried sickness the same way He carried sin. In the substitutionary atonement, Jesus took 39 stripes in exchange for my healing. It is already done. In the Father’s mind, my sicknesses were lifted off me and laid on Him. James 5:15 leaves no wiggle room: “The prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up.” No asterisks, no divine maybe; just faith cashing the check already signed in blood. To treat healing as a lottery ticket is to mock the stripes. If the Father went to that length, calling it optional is like inheriting a palace and sleeping on the curb. It is not humility; it is unbelief.

Now layer on the Abrahamic promise. Galatians 3 grafts me in: “If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” God swore to Abraham fame, wealth, health, supernatural favor (Genesis 12:2-3). Through Jesus, I inherit the whole package. The blessing of Abraham, which I have today through Jesus, includes the baptism of the Spirit and healing. Healing, long and strong life, the Spirit and miracles is part of the ancient promise of God. Jesus invoked it when He freed the woman bent double for eighteen years: “Should not this woman, a daughter of Abraham, whom Satan has kept bound… be set free?” (Luke 13:16). It was necessary because the Father keeps covenants. Deny healing and you orphan yourself from the inheritance.

Satan’ disciples love to murmur doubt where Scripture roars certainty. They say miracles faded, healing is rare, but suffering is noble. That is the same spirit that blocked Jesus in Nazareth (Mark 6:5-6). We call it what it is: Sickness is Satan’s glory; sickness is not God’s glory. Healing is God’s glory. Accepting illness as “God’s plan” hands the devil a trophy Jesus already crushed. The Father is not glorified in my pain; He is exalted when faith claims the healing His Son bled for.

If seeing Jesus is seeing the Father, then the Father is the ultimate Healer, pouring restoration like water on dry ground. Through the atonement He swapped my broken body for healed body; through Abraham’s promise He guarantees ongoing favor. Faith is not begging; it is agreeing with His yes. The Bible assumes I need miracle power, healing, and prophecy to finish strong. Jesus spent His ministry healing more than preaching. Who am I to reverse the ratio? Thus, God is healer.

Look at the crowds pressing in—multitudes dragging their broken on mats, in arms, on hope alone—and Jesus does not give pop quizzes about sin. He heals. All of them. Matthew 4:23-24 is brutal in its simplicity: teaching, proclaiming, healing every disease and sickness. No exceptions, no “sometimes,” no “if it’s My will.” Despite all these people’s sins, Jesus healed them all. All of them. This is Jesus. This is the Father. Seeing Jesus is seeing the Father, and Jesus did not give false advertisement about the Father when He healed all of them.

If seeing the Son is seeing the Father, then the Father’s default posture toward my body is restoration, not resignation. Anything less accuses the Son of false advertising and the Father of bait-and-switch. We refuse. The same hands that shaped galaxies touched blind eyes and watched them track light. That is my God.

Flip the page to Mark 1:34—He healed many, but the “many” is not a ceiling; it is the floor of a day already crammed with preaching and exorcism. Time ran out, not power. The next morning He is gone before dawn, praying, because more towns wait with more sick. Preaching is vital, but healing is God being God; healing is God being faithful to His Promise, and healing is the kingdom breaking in.

Jesus spent more time healing than preaching because the Father is more eager to fix my body than to force me to hear another sermon about how broken it is. God is healer and so He tells me He can heal, and then He heals me. Devil dogmatics is about telling how sinful you are, and how weakened, and how sick you are from God’s curse because Adam sinned. The faithless love to tell you this, but they do not heal you. They do not remove the curse and cancer from your body. They do not remove sin conscience from the mind. They do not remove the pain in your bones. That is what we call a Devil Twilight Zone, where God loses and Satan wins by stealing, hurting and killing you with sickness.

To pray “if it be Your will” over cancer is to stare at Jesus healing a leper and mutter, “Yeah, but maybe not.” That is not humility; it’s not even cessationism, that is satanism. The Father who thundered “Let there be light” still thunders “Be whole” through the stripes of His Son. The only biblical response is to obey God and get healed.

I do not need a covenant to force the Father into being a healer—He already is, eternally, unchangeably, and the covenant is merely His gracious way of locking that healing into my specific relationship with Him. The blood oath to Abraham and the stripes on Jesus do not manufacture a reluctant God; they reveal a God who has always conceived me, in predestination and election, in perfect health within His mind, and who now binds Himself by sworn promise so that even if I have weak faith, it has something concrete to hold on to. The contract is not the cause of His healing nature; His healing nature is the cause of the contract. God makes Himself my healing in promise and by blood not because He requires motivation—He is the motivation. God is healing, and so He delights to anchor my confidence in ink that cannot fade and wounds that have already closed. To treat the covenant as a mere legal loophole is to miss the heartbeat: the Father heals because that is who He is, and every stripe, every oath, every “by His wounds you are healed” is simply Him saying, “I am God, and therefore you are healed.”

If you have seen Jesus, who always healed, you have seen The Father. He always healed those stuffed with sin; Jesus did not ask them to even repent, but always healed all of them. Think about that. Jesus never made sin a block to healing, despite healing so many. It was never mentioned. We know the crowds were very sinful people because Jesus told the crowds they were sinful. And yet, Jesus healed all of them, without qualification. If they asked, they got healed. Every single time. There was no exception to this. If you have seen Jesus, you have seen the God of creation. You have seen the Father. There is no other God but this God.

Predestined For all Prayers to be Answered

(With a Divine Guarantee, No Fine Print)

“You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you.” (John 15:16)

Jesus drops this bombshell right in the middle of His farewell discourse, weaving together the threads of divine choice and human action in a way that leaves no room for half-hearted religion. Here we have the Son of God Himself, the most God-centered man who ever walked the earth, linking predestination not to some abstract theological puzzle but to the practical outworking of a believer’s life. He doesn’t stop at bare election for salvation; no, He presses on to appoint us for fruit that endures and prayers that hit their mark every time. If you’ve ever wondered why so many Christians limp along with unanswered petitions, mumbling about “God’s will” like it’s a cosmic lottery, this verse slices through the fog. Predestination, far from being a doctrine to tuck away in dusty seminary tomes, is God’s setup for a life where your requests become reality—because He rigged the game in your favor from eternity past. And if that sounds too bold, well, blame Jesus; He’s the one who said it.

I chose you. You did not choose me. I chose you. You did not choose me. I chose you. You did not choose me. (Okay, I’ll stop repeating it before it turns into a divine earworm.)

This is about predestination. In Romans 9, God said He chose to love one twin and hate the other before they were born or had made any choices of good or evil. God further hammers this point by saying that from a neutral lump of clay—not good or evil—He makes His own choice to shape one for honor and the other for common use. It’s the ultimate mic drop on free-will fantasies. God doesn’t wait for our resumes; He drafts us into His kingdom because He wants to. But Jesus doesn’t park there, as if predestination were just about getting a ticket to heaven. He appoints us “so that” we bear lasting fruit and receive whatever we ask in His name.

God’s sovereign based on what He wants; and so, it’s aimed at producing believers who pray boldly and watch heaven deliver. In other words, if you’re elect, you’re predestined not just to escape hell but to storm its gates with prayers that move mountains—literally, as Jesus teaches elsewhere (Mark 11:23).

Think about how Peter applies this in Acts 2. Fresh off Pentecost, he preaches repentance and baptism, then ties the promise of the Holy Spirit to “all whom the Lord our God will call” (Acts 2:39). Here, election isn’t some insider secret for mature saints; it’s the foundation for receiving power from on high. Peter assumes that God’s calling—His predestining work—doesn’t lead straight to forgiveness, but past that steppingstone to the outpouring of the Spirit for miracles and boldness. If God sovereignly elects you, He sovereignly empowers you to ask and receive. No asterisks, no fine print about “if it’s His will.” The reprobates? They’re left out, not because God couldn’t save them, but because He didn’t choose to—His hatred fixed before the foundation of the world, as Romans 9 unflinchingly states. Yet for the chosen, predestination is a launchpad for faith that demands and gets results. It’s like God handing you a loaded gun and saying, “Fire away; I’ve already loaded it with victory.” If you don’t shoot, then that’s on your unbelief, not His preloaded victory.

Now, contrast this with the faith-fumblers who twist sovereignty into a wet blanket over prayer. You’ve heard them: “Pray, but remember, God’s will might be ‘no’—He’s sovereign, after all.” They parade predestination as if it handcuffs our requests, turning God into a cosmic veto machine. But Jesus flips that script. In John 15, He uses election to embolden us: because you’re chosen, ask big and watch the Father deliver. It’s not arrogance; it’s obedience to the doctrine. These naysayers, often cloaked in Reformed garb, spout “double predestination” or “hard determinism” like it’s profound, but they miss the point. God’s absolute control does negate our agency; and in doing so it guarantees that we align with His promises in faith, so that reality bends at our faith filled words. James echoes this: “The prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up” (James 5:15). Will, not might. Sovereignty here isn’t a barrier—it’s the muscle behind the miracle.

Jesus is talking about the category of election and predestination here. However, it’s not the same topic as in Romans 9. Romans 9 was about election unto salvation itself, but Jesus isn’t talking about salvation—he’s focusing on the life we live after salvation. Jesus said He chose us to bear much fruit, which means good works. But Jesus doesn’t harp on good works the way most folks do, like tallying up brownie points. No, Jesus specifically means this type of good work: “so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you.” Jesus’ version of good works is about asking in His name, in faith, and then getting whatever we ask for. (Think of it as heaven’s express delivery service—ask, believe, receive.) This is how Jesus teaches what good works are. But setting aside how Jesus flips the usual definition on its head, let’s zero in on the main point.

Jesus says He chose us—or in other words, predestined and elected us—to ask for anything in His name and receive it from the Father. This is an utter and complete death knell to the “if God wills” blasphemy. (Yeah, I said it—adding that caveat is like ordering a pizza and then wondering if the delivery guy feels like showing up.) Jesus says He has predestined you to get all answers to your prayers with a resounding yes. Jesus says what you ask for is the thing the Father will give. There’s no way to misinterpret this without exposing yourself as faithless. It’s too plain and obvious—so if you twist it, you might as well lift up your shirt and flash your doubts to the world. The thing you ask is the thing you get. This is the doctrine of God; this is the doctrine of Jesus Christ. Jesus says He has elected you for this. Thus, the idea of “if it is God’s will” is absolute nonsense and a rejection of Jesus’ doctrine. It rejects God’s predestination and Jesus’ prayer doctrine outright.

Take the Gentile woman in Matthew 15. Jesus initially rebuffs her: it’s not her time, not her covenant. But she persists with a clever argument rooted in faith, and boom—her daughter is healed. Jesus commends her “great faith,” overriding the timeline because her trust in Him demanded it. Predestination didn’t lock her out; her faith unlocked the door. Or consider Hezekiah, pleading for more years despite God’s decree of death (2 Kings 20). God relents, adding fifteen years. Sovereignty yields to faith? No—God sovereignly designed it so that faith accesses extensions of grace. These stories aren’t exceptions; they’re blueprints. If predestination meant prayers bounce off heaven’s ceiling, why bother appointing us to ask and receive? Jesus ties election to fruitful asking precisely because God’s choice equips us to pray with punch.

The critics? They’re often the ones peddling unbelief under pious labels. They balk at “name it and claim it,” but Jesus said, “Whatever you ask in my name…” (John 14:13). They cry “man-centered” when we claim mountains obey us, yet Jesus commanded it (Mark 11:23). Their version of sovereignty shrinks God to a reluctant giver, doling out crumbs if He feels like it. But Scripture paints Him as the ultimate benefactor, swearing by Himself to bless Abraham’s seed—and we’re that seed through faith (Galatians 3:29). Predestination secures this: chosen ones aren’t left guessing; they’re appointed to pray victoriously. If your theology leaves you pleading without expecting, it’s defective—more aligned with fatalism than biblical faith.

People often wield the sovereignty and predestination of God in the form of “if God wills” to sidestep Jesus’ faith and prayer doctrine. But since Jesus directly ties predestination and election to “when you ask in My name, you get the thing you ask for,” you cannot use God’s predestination against always-answered prayer. It would create a contradiction: God has predestined always-answered prayers and God has not predestined always-answered prayers. (That’s like saying Schrödinger’s cat is both saved and unsaved—nonsense.) Jesus appealed to the law of contradiction in Mark 12:35-37 to interpret scripture. Thus, you cannot have a contradiction in God’s sovereignty without being flat-out wrong.

Jesus says He has sovereignly elected you to pray in His name and get the thing you ask for. Thus, the phrase “if God wills” is irrelevant. The will of God in this context is irrelevant because what God has elected is the relevant factor; the thing Jesus has elected is for you to ask for something and have the Father give it to you. The relevant thing is “your will,” therefore, not “God’s will.” The thing that “you want” or that aligns with “your will” is the key factor established by God’s sovereign election and predestination. To focus on God’s will in this circumstance of prayer is to trample and piss on the predestination and election of God like it’s a worthless pile of trash.

The positive teaching of God’s election in our prayers—to get whatever we want—has been trampled upon by the church for centuries, as they play the part of the whore with Satan as the lead actor. (Cue the dramatic music: Satan’s ultimate plot twist—joining the church to rewrite the script.) The devil fears Christians who can pray and get what they want. Satan has no defense against such an unstoppable force. (It’s like bringing a knife to a prayer-gun fight.) Thus, he infiltrated the church and convinced many to reject Jesus’ doctrine of predestination and faith, stopping the church from wielding its heavenly power. When the church isn’t using its unstoppable power, it’s weak and vulnerable to attacks from Satan and his thugs.

Jesus didn’t pray that way; He commanded storms and demons because He knew the Father’s plan included His authority. We’re in Him, so the same goes for us; we have His name, His authority and His same Spirit anointed power. So, Step up and pray like your election depends on it—because in God’s brilliant design, it empowers it. And if the mountains don’t move? Check your faith, not His sovereignty. After all, He elected you for answered prayers.

Let us turn the tide. It might feel like it’s late in the game, because it’s been 2,000 years since Jesus’ death and resurrection. But why would I care? I was born in this time, and even if it is late in the game, I will be like the returning White Gandalf—more powerful than ever, staff glowing and all.

Let us not be embarrassed by Jesus’ predestination doctrine. Let us not be embarrassed by Jesus’ faith and prayer doctrine. I give you permission to believe Jesus, despite what the faithless say about His teachings. I am telling you: You are allowed to believe Jesus. You should only care about what He says, not what the faithless—who have no healing and hardly any evidence of commonly answered prayers—babble on about. After all, if prayers were a video game, Jesus just handed you the cheat code for infinite wins.