Category Archives: Christian Axiology

Whose Side Are You On?

In a world where sensations scream louder than scripture for the faith-fumblers, the call to confession isn’t some mystical chant—it’s the bold declaration of God’s unshakeable truth over the fleeting shadows of experience. We’ve all been there, staring down giants that loom large in our sight, whether it’s a diagnosis that defies hope, a financial pit that swallows dreams, or a relational rift that feels irreparable. But here’s the divine directive: confess God, not Goliath. This isn’t about denying reality’s bite; it’s about affirming the Creator who bites back harder, reshaping that reality according to His promises. Faith isn’t a whisper in the wind; it’s a thunderclap that commands mountains to move and giants to fall. And if your faith feels more like a polite cough, don’t worry—we’ll amp it up to thunder level soon.

Let’s start with the basics, drawing from the well of scripture that never runs dry. Confession, in biblical terms, is the act of saying the same thing as God. We’re agreeing with His revelation rather than inductive speculations from the five senses. Romans 10:9-10 lays it out plainly: “If you declare with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved.” Notice the progression—faith is birthed in the mind, then voiced through the mouth, and that confession seals the deal. This is spiritual mechanics controlled and ensured by the Almighty. Yet, so many Christians fumble this, agreeing with their aches and anxieties instead of the atonement. They spot Goliath’s spear and start negotiating terms of surrender, all while claiming to trust the Sovereign. Talk about a theological facepalm.

Take Abraham, the father of faith, as our prime exhibit. In Romans 4:17-21, Paul paints a picture of a man who stared down barrenness and old age, yet didn’t flinch. “Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, ‘So shall your offspring be.’ Without weakening in his faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he was about a hundred years old—and that Sarah’s womb was also dead. Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised.” Abraham didn’t confess, “I’m childless and creaky.” No, he called things that were not as though they were, echoing God’s own creative speech in Genesis. His empirical sensations shouted infertility, but his confession echoed eternity. He agreed with God’s promise, not his circumstances, and reality bent to that faith. If Abraham had played the “realist” card, confessing his old age, doctor reports, and YouTube statistics on having children after 90, then he’d have stayed Abram the barren. But he didn’t, and if we are true children of Abraham’s faith, then we should confess the promise over reality. Our confessions aren’t reports on the weather; they’re decrees based on God’s Word that change the climate. Picture Abraham as the original weatherman, he knew the weather because his faith dictate the course of his life.

Now, contrast that with Israel’s epic fumble in Numbers 13-14. God had promised them a land flowing with milk and honey, a contract carved in divine faithfulness. He sends spies to scout it, and what do they bring back? A report laced with unbelief: “We saw the Nephilim there (the descendants of Anak come from the Nephilim). We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes, and we looked the same to them.” (Numbers 13:33). They confessed their smallness, agreeing with the giants’ stature over God’s promise. It wasn’t a lie—the cities were fortified, the people were huge—but it was a betrayal of God’s revealed promise. God had said, “I am giving you this land,” yet they wailed, “We can’t attack those people; they are stronger than we are.” (Numbers 13:31). And God, in His anger, responded: “As surely as I live, declares the Lord, I will do to you the very thing I heard you say.” (Numbers 14:28). He made them wander until that faithless generation dropped dead in the desert. Their confession aligned with sensations, not His revelation, and it cost them the inheritance. Today, we see the same spiritual sabotage—folks facing cancer confessing, “This is too big for me,” or poverty proclaiming, “I’ll never break free.” They’re agreeing with Goliath, and God lets them reap the wilderness they sowed. It’s not cruelty for God to make their empirical confessions self-fulfilling prophecies; it’s the least they earned. Faith-fumblers are trash—they peddle unbelief like it’s piety, limiting the Holy One of Israel who parted seas and raised the dead. It’s like bringing a defeatist attitude to a victory parade—total buzzkill.

Ah, but then there’s David, the shepherd boy who schooled a giant in theology. In 1 Samuel 17, Goliath struts out, nine feet of Philistine fury, defying Israel’s armies: “This day I defy the armies of Israel! Give me a man and let us fight each other.” (v. 10). The Israelites quaked, confessing defeat before the battle began. “When the Israelites saw the man, they all fled from him in great fear.” (v. 24). They agreed with Goliath’s taunts, measuring their might by his muscles. Enter David, fresh from tending sheep, armed not with armor but with audacity born of faith. He hears the giant’s bluster and retorts, “Who is this uncircumcised Philistine that he should defy the armies of the living God?” (v. 26). David didn’t confess Goliath’s strength; he confessed God’s supremacy. “You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the Lord Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. This day the Lord will deliver you into my hands… and the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel.” (vv. 45-46). His confession wasn’t rooted in his slingshot skills but in God’s power and promise to help His chosen ones. He slung that stone, and Goliath’s head hit the ground—literally. David didn’t agree with the giant; rather, he confessed the Greater One. If he had joined the chorus of cowards, Saul’s army would have stayed sidelined. But one boy’s faith decree shifted the battlefield. His faith turned Goliath into a punchline.

This pattern pulses through scripture, a divine drumbeat urging us to align our lips with His promises. Sickness, for instance, isn’t God’s fingerprints; it’s Satan’s graffiti on your body. Yet, how many confess the curse instead of the cure? Acts 10:38 reminds us Jesus “went around doing good and healing all who were under the power of the devil,” because oppression comes from the devil, not our Father. When we confess healing—”By His wounds I am healed” (Isaiah 53:5)—we decree the report of God’s atonement news, not the doctor reports. If you agree with the symptoms, then you’re siding with Satan, letting him sideline saints while you slap a “God’s will” sticker on it. That’s not faith; that’s joining with demons to fight against God. It’s like high-fiving the villain mid-battle—awkward and unhelpful to say it midly.

Don’t get me wrong—confession isn’t denial; it’s dominion over reality. Abraham faced his dead body but didn’t use those observations as his starting point for knowledge. Israel saw the giants but should have seen God’s word as stronger. However, because they used their observations as a starting point for knowledge, their sensations became a foundation to disbelieve the faithfulness of God. David eyed Goliath’s size but proclaimed God’s power, because God’s Word was his starting point for knowledge, not his observations. In our lives, this means daily declarations drown out doubt and renew our minds in God’s Word. Facing financial famine? Confess Philippians 4:19: “My God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.” Battling illness? Proclaim Psalm 103:3: “He forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases.” It’s not overly optimistic; it’s obedience to God, respecting His Word as more powerful than observations. Imagine Goliath trash-talking, only for a kid to reply, “Your spear’s big, but my God’s bigger. Let’s dance.” That’s the guaranteed faith brings, cutting through observations like David’s stone through Philistine pride. No need for a gym membership when faith does the heavy lifting.

Ah, those faith-fumblers—spiritual garbage peddling unbelief like it’s holy incense. They spot Goliath’s shadow and immediately confess their own smallness, agreeing with the giant’s taunts as if echoing Satan’s playbook pleases God. Picture David rising to join the chorus of cowards screaming unbelief, agreeing with every sensation screaming at him: Goliath’s spear gleaming, the army trembling, the odds stacked. If he did that, his story would have ended there, and his name forgotten like the rest of the Israelites lined up in the war camp. However, he didn’t confess the enemy’s strength or Israel’s weakness; no, he declared God’s victory as done, slinging faith like a divine haymaker. Today, it’s the same farce: folks facing cancer confess, “We can’t defeat this—it’s too big,” then slap a sovereignty sticker on their surrender, praising God for “working all for His glory” in defeat. As if the Almighty’s plan hinges on our demise! That is insanity; that would be a kingdom divided. The faithless have zero courage, zero spine, teaching flocks to nod along with Goliath, mumbling, “God might help if it’s His will.” They say, “As we can see, God in His sovereignty made Goliath bigger than us, thus, it must be His will for us to lose to the Philistines and be defeated and suffer for God’s glory. Let us suffer for God without complaining.” But David’s roar exposes the lie: God’s will is victory for those who confess His promise over the problem, not cower under it. These fumblers aren’t just wrong; they’re complicit by joining with Goliath, limiting the Holy One who gave a promise. They’re like the bad advice in a choose-your-own-adventure book—pick them, and you end up in the wilderness chapter.

This defective ethic turns theology into tragedy. The faithless don’t just lack belief—they teach others to align with the adversary, confessing circumstances as fate while ignoring Isaiah 53’s stripes that already crushed the curse. Like the Israelites whining about giants, they reap wilderness wanderings, dying slow deaths of doubt. But God calls us to David’s boldness: refute the report, command the cancer to crumble in Jesus’ name, because sovereignty doesn’t sabotage salvation—it secures it for the asker. If they’re praising God for defeat, they’re cheering on the wrong team. They have blood on their hands for fighting against God’s people. Time to flip the script and join the winning side.

Yet, the faith-fumblers persist, teaching unbelief as if the Bible teaches us to doubt God. They say, “God might heal if it’s His will,” while scripture screams, “Ask and it will be given” (Matthew 7:7). They’re the modern spies, reporting giants without reckoning God’s Son who says, “All things are possible for the one who believes,” and “Whatever you ask, believe and you will have it.” We have a better covenant than David or the Israelites, where faith moves mountains (Mark 11:23). Our upgrade includes unlimited miracle miles—claim them.

Whose side are you on? Stop agreeing with Goliath’s growls. Seriously, if you repeat what you see—“how big Goliath is”—and not decree God’s promise, you have already joined with the Philistines. The real battle is a clash of faith vs. unbelief. Because David won the battle of faith-filled words over unbelief, it carried over into his victory over Goliath in the material world. However, the faithless are blind to the fact they are standing with Goliath and facing off against God’s chosen ones. The 10 spies who truthfully spoke what they saw (they were smaller and there were giants in the land) thought they were doing nothing wrong. But God considered them an abomination for speaking empirical data over the promise of God. When observations, even if true, contradict God’s promise, don’t you dare confess them, unless your goal is to become an abomination in God’s sight. If you speak your observation over God’s promise, you are Goliath. You have become an abomination that speaks against God and encourages God’s people to speak against God. You are that man. You have become Goliath. You are not David. You are not a hero of faith. You have become the villain and have aligned yourself with a host of witnesses who include Satan and demons. They started the tradition of questioning God’s Word, and now you have joined with them. Is it now you understand why your life is so messed up? There is a reason why there are so many demonic footholds in your life, and it has to do with your confessions.

Goliath’s bite is real, but his sword bows to a man who has faith. We all must start somewhere. Confess God’s promises relentlessly, day and night, until your faith catches up to your confession. And when it does, heads will begin to roll.

In the end, this isn’t optional; it’s ordained. Hebrews 11 chronicles heroes who confessed victory amid valleys—Abraham, Moses, David—all emulating faith that frames worlds (v. 3). Make sure you’re on team Jesus, not team Goliath. Your giant awaits, but so does your God. Speak His Word, sling your faith, and watch heads roll. After all, in this cosmic showdown, the battle belongs to the Lord—but the confession? That’s on you. And frankly, if you’re still nodding along with Goliath, it’s time to switch sides before the arrows begin to fly, and they will fly soon.

Does the Father Know You?

Jesus said, “If you have seen me you have seen the Father.” Think about that for a moment. There are countless voices out there claiming to define who God is, but Jesus cuts through the noise with absolute clarity: if you’ve seen Him, you’ve seen the Father. This isn’t some vague poetic flourish; it’s a revelation from the Son Himself, grounding our understanding of God’s character in the person and work of Christ. In the passage from Matthew 14, we see this truth illustrated, not through human speculation, but through Jesus’ actions amid a crowd desperate for relief. The disciple had just faltered in faith, doubting even as he stepped out on the water, yet the crowds surged toward Him with a simple, unwavering expectation. They believed that merely touching the edge of His cloak would bring healing—and without exception, every single one who reached out was made whole.

 Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?” And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down.  Then those who were in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” When they had crossed over, they landed at Gennesaret.  And when the men of that place recognized Jesus, they sent word to all the surrounding country. People brought all their sick to him and begged him to let the sick just touch the edge of his cloak, and all who touched it were healed. (Matthew 14:31-36 NIV)

This scene isn’t merely a historical footnote; its an infallible revelation of the heart of God. These weren’t spiritual elites—Jesus Himself described crowds like this as sinful, riddled with all manner of failings. Among thousands pressing in, there had to be some deeply entrenched in rebellion, yet not one was turned away. No lectures on repentance first, no prerequisites beyond their faith-fueled pursuit. They chased Him down, overtaking His boat, driven by the conviction that He was willing and able to restore them. And He did. Every ache erased, every affliction lifted. This is Jesus. This is the Father. This is the God we approach in prayer, the One whose nature overflows with compassion so profound that it heals without hesitation.

Before diving into the specifics of how healing ties into Abraham’s covenant and Jesus’ atonement, let’s linger on this foundational truth. God’s compassion isn’t a side note or an occasional mood swing; it’s the essence of who He is, revealed in Christ. Scripture doesn’t portray a distant deity weighing our worthiness on scales of performance. Instead, we see a Father so eager to bless that He over-engineers our redemption, providing multiple avenues for us to receive what He’s already accomplished. In Isaiah 53:4-5, we read that He bore our sicknesses and carried our pains, and by His stripes, we are healed. Matthew 8:17 confirms this wasn’t some spiritual metaphor but literal fulfillment in Jesus’ ministry, where He healed the sick as a direct outworking of that prophecy. James 5:15 echoes it: the prayer of faith will raise the sick, and the Lord will restore them. These aren’t suggestions; they’re promises rooted in God’s unchanging character.

Yet, how often do some approach God as if He’s reluctant? They pray hedging their bets—“if it’s Your will”—as though His compassion might waver like a fickle breeze. That’s not the Father Jesus revealed. In Matthew 9:36, seeing the crowds harassed and helpless like sheep without a shepherd, He was moved with compassion. The Greek word there, splagchnizomai, literally means to be stirred in the gut—a deep, visceral empathy that propelled Him to action. He taught, proclaimed the kingdom, and healed every disease and sickness among them. No audits of their sin logs, no waiting periods. Compassion drove Him to meet their needs immediately. And if we’ve seen Jesus, we’ve seen the Father—compassionate, powerful, and utterly committed to our wholeness.

This compassion alone should be enough to fuel our faith for healing. Those crowds in Matthew 14 weren’t quoting chapter and verse on atonement theology; they simply saw in Jesus a God who cared, who wouldn’t withhold good from those who sought Him. And He proved them right, healing every one without fail. No rejections, no “not today,” no mysterious denials. This is the God we pray to—a Father whose default is yes when faith reaches out. As Vincent Cheung notes in “Healing: The Will of Man,” “God’s will on healing is an artificially generated question. It is a theological scam and a trap. Christians should have never focused so much on it… Jesus answered the man, ‘All things are possible for one who believes.’” Here, Cheung highlights how Scripture shifts the focus from God’s Will to human Will, urging us to trust God’s revealed willingness rather than inventing barriers.

But let’s be frank: if your prayers for healing come laced with doubt, as if God might play favorites or withhold on a whim, you’re not praying to the Father Jesus unveiled. You’re addressing a counterfeit, a stingy idol crafted from human speculation and unbelief. The proof that you know this compassionate God—and that He knows you—is in the receiving. Just as the crowds’ touch brought instant restoration, your faith in His promises should yield the same. Mark 5:34 tells of the woman with the issue of blood: “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.” Luke 7:50 echoes it to the sinful woman: “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.” Faith in Jesus’ compassion doesn’t beg; it receives what’s already provided.

This ties directly into the blood covenant we have with God through Christ, a contract that guarantees healing as part of our inheritance. In Galatians 3:13-14, Paul explains that Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, so that we might receive the blessing of Abraham and the promise of the Spirit through faith. What was Abraham’s blessing? As detailed in Genesis 12-17, it was unmerited favor: prosperity, health, protection, and descendants as numerous as the stars. God declared Himself Abraham’s shield and very great reward, and Abraham believed, crediting it to him as righteousness (Romans 4:3). No mention of sin there—just God’s lavish promises. And Jesus, in Luke 13:16, healed a woman bound by Satan for 18 years, declaring it was necessary because “she was a daughter of Abraham.” Healing wasn’t optional; it was covenant-bound, a must for God’s faithfulness.

In the atonement, this exchange is perfected. Isaiah 53 isn’t poetic fluff—it’s prophetic precision: He took our infirmities and bore our diseases, and with His wounds, we are healed. Peter confirms it in 1 Peter 2:24: “By his wounds you have been healed.” Past tense, accomplished. Matthew 8:17 applies it directly to Jesus’ ministry, where He healed all who came, fulfilling that prophecy. James 5:15 commands the elders to pray over the sick, and the prayer offered in faith will make them well. This isn’t a “gift of healing” scenario; it’s faith in the promise, the same faith that receives forgiveness. Why? Because healing, like salvation, flows from the same substitution: Jesus bore our sickness so we don’t have to. To doubt healing is to doubt the fullness of His work, trampling the blood that bought it.

Those who peddle unbelief here—claiming healing isn’t guaranteed, or it’s not for today—aren’t just mistaken; they’re opposing the gospel. They’ll quote verses on suffering while ignoring the avalanche of promises for wholeness. It’s like focusing on Job’s boils and forgetting the double restoration at the end. Job’s suffering was for a brief moment and his excessive health and wealth was for a lifetime. God doesn’t contradict Himself; He over-engineers our benefits to crush doubt. Galatians 3 reminds us the curse included every disease (Deuteronomy 28), and Christ redeemed us from it all. So, three ways sickness was lifted: borne away (Isaiah 53:4), by His stripes (53:5), and through curse-reversal (Galatians 3:13). Even if one avenue feels shaky (which is shouldn’t), grab another—faith has options because God’s compassion is extravagant.

Skeptics act like God’s a cosmic miser, doling out healings like a kid with Halloween candy—only the “good” ones get the full-size bars. Meanwhile, Scripture shows Him flinging open the storehouse, saying, “Take it all—it’s yours!” If faith moves mountains (Matthew 17:20), why settle for molehills? Jesus rebuked His disciples for little faith amid storms and sickness, then turned to outsiders like the Canaanite woman (Matthew 15:28): “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.” She twisted His words with bold belief, and her daughter was healed instantly. No religious resume required—just faith in His compassion.

This is the Father who knows you: the One who heals because He loves, who provides because He promised, who empowers because you’re His. The proof? Receive it. If you pray to a God who “might” heal, you don’t know Him. But if you approach with the crowds’ audacity—believing He’s willing, able, and eager—you’ll find every touch met with wholeness. As Mark 9:23 declares, “Everything is possible for one who believes.” Don’t let bad reports or weak theology rob you. Confess His promises, command reality to align, and watch the Father prove Himself through your faith. This is knowing God—not in theory, but in triumphant, life-altering reality. And yes, He knows you too—enough to heal you today.

Paul drives this home in 1 Corinthians 2:11-12: “For who knows a person’s thoughts except the spirit of that person, which is in him? So also no one comprehends the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. Now we have received not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we might understand the things freely given us by God.” The Spirit reveals God’s mind to us, and through faith, we grasp His lavish gifts—including healing. Jesus, in Matthew 7:7-11, ties knowing God to receiving good things: ask in faith, and your Father gives generously, not withholding like earthly dads might. To know God is to know His unwavering commitment to heal, as Isaiah 53:4-5 declares He bore our infirmities for our wholeness. Doubt this, and you’re not communing with the true God but a figment born of unbelief. True knowledge of God ignites bold faith that commands sickness to flee, echoing Peter in Acts 3:16: “And his name—by faith in his name—has made this man strong.” Receive healing, and you’ll know Him intimately, as Jeremiah 17:14 promises: “Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed; save me, and I shall be saved, for you are my praise.”

There is no other God but this Jesus who healed all, without exception. If you pray to a God who might not heal, you do not pray to Jesus. And by extension you do not pray to the Father. You do not know God, and you are not praying to God, if you pray not expecting with guarantee of healing when asked in faith. This is the only God who exist. There is no other God. Do you know Him? And Does this God who always heal, know you? The proof that this Jesus and this God knows you, is you getting healed.

A Deep Relationship Without Guarantees?

Picture this: you’re diving headfirst into the depths of a relationship, pouring out your soul, investing time and trust, only to be told there’s no promise of anything good coming your way—no security, no tangible benefits, just an endless plunge into emotional waters with no shore in sight. Sounds like a recipe for heartbreak, doesn’t it? Yet, that’s precisely the distorted portrait Dane C. Ortlund paints in his book “In the Lord I Take Refuge.” He takes the raw, promise-packed Psalms and spiritualizes them into a misty refuge of inner comfort, stripping away the concrete guarantees of healing, prosperity, and deliverance that God Himself embeds in His Word. Ortlund prioritizes a “deep” relational intimacy with God while sidelining the very assurances that make such depth meaningful. It’s like inviting someone to a feast and serving only air—satisfying in theory, but starving in reality.

I have picked Ortlund as a typical example, and not because he is somehow worse than the average faithless or traditionalist.

This approach isn’t just a mild misreading; it’s a slap in the face to the Almighty. Human relationships, even flawed ones, come with built-in guarantees. My bond with my parents wasn’t some ethereal vibe; it carried the weight of promised help, unwavering love, and practical support through thick and thin. With my identical twin brother, Joshua, our connection was laced with absolute commitments—we had each other’s backs, no questions asked. Marriages thrive on vows that spell out fidelity, care, and mutual upliftment. If earthly ties demand such reliability, how much more should our covenant with the Creator? The Psalms don’t whisper vague spiritual consolations; they roar with divine pledges that encompass the whole person—body, soul, and circumstances. To suggest otherwise is to demote God below the level of faithful pagans, turning His fatherly embrace into Satanic emotional abuse. The God the faith-fumblers portray, confuse God and Satan, as if it is difficult to separate the two.

Turn to the Scriptures, as we must, and let them interpret themselves with unflinching logic and context. Psalm 91 doesn’t mince words about the guarantees flowing from dwelling in God’s shelter. “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty,” it declares, setting the stage for a relationship rooted in trust. But it doesn’t stop at inner peace; it unfolds into ironclad protections: “Surely he will save you from the fowler’s snare and from the deadly pestilence… No harm will overtake you, no disaster will come near your tent… With long life I will satisfy him and show him my salvation” (Psalm 91:1, 3, 10, 16, NIV). Here, the relational depth—acknowledging God’s name and loving Him—triggers tangible outcomes: rescue from plagues, angelic guardianship, victory over threats like lions and serpents. This isn’t spiritual fluff; it’s God committing to override physical dangers for those who call on Him. Faith-fumblers might frame this as mere emotional steadiness amid trials, but the text demands more—it’s a blueprint for faith that expects and receives real-world deliverance.

Similarly, Psalm 103 explodes with benefits that refuse to be confined to the spiritual realm. “Praise the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s” (Psalm 103:2-5, NIV). Forgiveness and healing stand side by side, both as guaranteed outflows of God’s compassionate character. The context here is a fatherly relationship: “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him” (v. 13). This isn’t abstract renewal; it’s holistic restoration—sins wiped clean, bodies mended, desires fulfilled with prosperity and vitality. To spiritualize healing as just “comfort” or emotional “renewal” without physical application, as Ortlund does, is to gut the verse of its power. God doesn’t dangle carrots He won’t deliver, not that Satan’s job. Satan is the world expert on carrot dangling, but God brings to the table to Abraham where healing is daily bread on the table. His promises are yes and amen in Christ, extending to the material world He created and redeems.

And then there’s Psalm 34, where David, fresh from feigning madness to escape danger, testifies to God’s reliability: “I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears… This poor man called, and the Lord heard him; he saved him out of all his troubles… The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles” (Psalm 34:4, 6, 17, NIV). Notice the repetition of “all”—not some, not most, but every single trouble. This psalm ties relational seeking to comprehensive rescue, including from physical perils like broken bones or lack (v. 10: “Those who seek the Lord lack no good thing”). It’s a call to taste and see God’s goodness, not in spite of circumstances but by transforming them. Faith-fumblers emphasis on prayerful reflection without prescribing outcomes misses this: faith isn’t passive endurance; it’s active expectation that God will act as promised, destroying enemies, sickness, and want.

Drawing from the broader biblical narrative, this pattern holds from Eden onward. God’s original design in the Garden was a relationship of total favor—provision without toil, health without decay, dominion without opposition. Sin fractured it, but His gospel to Abraham reinstated guarantees: land, fame, military victories, health, wealth, descendants, blessing that overflowed materially and spiritually (Genesis 12:2-3). Jesus embodied this, healing all who came to Him, not as optional extras but as faithfulness to His old promise to Abraham and Jesus’ finished atonement. (Matthew 8:16-17, fulfilling Isaiah 53:4-5). Jesus Christ didn’t spiritualize away the promises; He commanded faith to move mountains, heal the sick, and prosper in every way (Mark 11:23; 3 John 1:2). God’s salvation is total, encompassing body and spirit. Sickness isn’t His signature—it’s Satan’s graffiti on His masterpiece, and faith in the atonement erases it clean.

Vincent Cheung echoes this in his writings on faith and sovereignty, noting that true biblical faith grasps God’s promises without apology, applying them directly to life’s battles (from Sermonettes Vol. 6, p. 81, “Two Views on God’s Word”). He warns against limiting the promises, and gutting Jesus’ faith doctrine to hell and back, making the same scripture both promise and then negate the promise. This turns theology into a “mad house.”  We should not excuse sin or doubt by voiding the promises to make us look better. But Ortlund’s view risks fostering a faith that’s deep in sentiment yet shallow in substance, encouraging believers to settle for inner solace while the devil runs rampant in their health and finances.

Imagine God as the ultimate spouse, vowing eternal love but whispering, “No guarantees on the good stuff—just hang in there.” That’d be grounds for divine counseling! There is a person who whispers this and their name is Satan. Imagine being so confused about reality, that you married Satan, thinking you married God. People can’t tell the difference between God and Satan and yet they want to school us in doctrine?  No, the Psalms portray a God who screams, “Call to me and I will answer you” (Jeremiah 33:3, echoed in Psalms like 50:15), promising salvation, long life, and answers to our cries. Our inner peace stems from seeing Him pulverize troubles, not from ignoring them. We have heart-level calm because He grants all-around peace—enemies crushed, bodies healed, needs met. The Bible knows no split-level relationship with God: inward but not outward, spiritual but not material. From Abraham’s wealth to Jesus’ miracles, depth with God guarantees favor for the whole man.

In conclusion, Ortlund’s book, dishonors the Psalms by diluting their promises into devil devotions, training the mind to disbelieve God and bow to empiricism. True refuge in the Lord isn’t a guarantee-free zone; it’s a fortress stocked with every good thing, activated by faith. Let’s reject this faithless insult and embrace the God who delivers from “all” troubles, heals “all” diseases, and satisfies with prosperity. That’s the deep relationship worth pursuing—one where guarantees aren’t optional but the very foundation. It’s foundational because God is the who gives to us, not the other way around. The gospel is God giving all good things to us, and as Jesus told Martha, the resurrection means a good miracle now. Because God did not spare His own Son, He will freely give us all things (Romans 8:32).

Because the gospel is already completed and Jesus is already at the Father’s right hand, we already have all these benefits. They already are our definition and identity. They are already part of the active Contract relationship we have with Jesus. This means you cannot remove these guaranteed benefits without removing Jesus Himself, because they are one-thing in essence. The faith-fumblers try to subdivide Jesus and His benefits like fried chicken, but Jesus is one packaged deal. If you don’t receive healing, prosperity and favor from God today, then you cannot receive a relationship with Jesus, because that is Jesus.

The Power of God Is Here to Heal

In the Gospel of Luke, we encounter a powerful and vivid scene that perfectly illustrates divine authority in action: “One day Jesus was teaching, and Pharisees and teachers of the law were sitting there. They had come from every village of Galilee and from Judea and Jerusalem. And the power of the Lord was with Jesus to heal the sick” (Luke 5:17, NIV).

This wasn’t some vague, ethereal spiritual mist floating around like early morning haze—no way. It was the tangible, manifest presence of God’s raw authority, actively enabling Jesus to confront sickness and demonic oppression head-on, without hesitation. Peter later echoes this truth powerfully in Acts, declaring how “God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and power, and how he went around doing good and healing all who were under the power of the devil, because God was with him” (Acts 10:38, NIV). This should shake up any believer who’s settled for a powerless version of faith: this identical power, this very anointing of the Holy Spirit, isn’t sealed away in some historical archive exclusively for Jesus. Because of His finished work on the cross, His resurrection, His ascension to the right hand of Power, and His glorious outpouring of the Spirit at Pentecost, we now have direct access to that same explosive force. Yet, far too many of us live as if we’re still waiting for the spiritual UPS truck to finally arrive with our package.

Let’s unpack this thoroughly and biblically, because relying on mere empirical observations or fleshy experiences is about as useful as installing a screen door on a submarine when it comes to discerning God’s revelation. Jesus operated fully as a man under the law, born at the appointed time to redeem those who were trapped beneath it (Galatians 4:4-5). Importantly, He didn’t perform healings by tapping into His inherent divinity during His earthly ministry; instead, He did it all through the anointing of the Holy Spirit, deliberately modeling the pattern for ordinary humanity empowered by God. This is crucial—it shows us exactly how we’re meant to operate today. “If it is by the Spirit of God that I drive out demons, then the kingdom of God has come upon you,” Matthew 12:28. Jesus tell us plainly that He was casting out demons by the Spirit’s power, not His. And it is for this reason we can be like Jesus, because He has given us the same Spirit empowered ministry. This is why the tired excuse of the faithless, “well that was Jesus, or that was the apostles,” is inexcusable. Excommunicate any such people out of your life.

Jesus Himself issued this staggering promise that should ignite every believer: “Very truly I tell you, whoever believes in me will do the works I have been doing, and they will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father” (John 14:12, NIV). If that doesn’t feel like a direct invitation to step boldly into the same arena of supernatural power, then what would?

Consider the seamless transition from Jesus’ earthly ministry to the ongoing ministry of His church. He ascended to heaven not to retire comfortably on a cloud strumming a harp, but to actively pour out the promised Holy Spirit—the baptism specifically for power (Acts 1:4-8). This isn’t some optional premium upgrade reserved for a select spiritual elite; it’s the standard, essential equipment for every genuine disciple who’s serious about advancing God’s kingdom on earth. Peter drove this home unmistakably on the day of Pentecost: repent, be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit—this promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far off, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to himself (Acts 2:38-39, NIV). Paul reinforces and expands this in Galatians, connecting the blessing of Abraham—which explicitly includes receiving the Spirit through faith—to us Gentiles as well, all through Christ Jesus (Galatians 3:14, NIV). We’re not talking about a faint, barely audible whisper of the Spirit here; this is rivers of living water flowing powerfully from within the believer, empowering us to heal the sick, prophesy boldly, cast out demons decisively, and turn the world upside down, just as the early church demonstrated so vividly.

Sadly, too many Christians today treat this available power like it’s some expired container of yogurt hidden in the back of the fridge—technically still there, but they’d rather not risk opening it. They’ll often hide behind a misunderstood view of God’s sovereignty, as if His absolute control somehow turns us into passive fatalists with no responsibility to act. But they conveniently overlook that the very same sovereign God commands us explicitly to eagerly desire and pursue spiritual gifts (1 Corinthians 14:1). I’ve personally observed how unbelief can cleverly masquerade as false piety or intellectual humility, effectively blocking the free flow of God’s power in our lives and ministries. Some believers are quick to claim forgiveness solely by faith without hesitation, yet when the topic shifts to healing or miracles, suddenly it becomes “only if it’s God’s will.” That’s inconsistent nonsense. If we applied that same doubtful logic to forgiveness, we’d pray in faith for forgiveness while secretly wondering if God might sovereignly choose not to grant it after all. Total faithless hypocrisy. Let’s call it what it is; a mockery of the atonement of Jesus and the sovereignty of God.

The Bible consistently frames healing as the children’s bread, an integral part of the blessing of Abraham that we inherit and claim through bold faith (Matthew 15:26-28; Galatians 3:13-14). Jesus never paused to check the Father’s current mood or get special permission before healing someone; He simply acted in compassion, systematically destroying the works of Satan because the power of the Lord was present to heal (Luke 13:16; Acts 10:38). And that power source? None other than the Holy Spirit—the same One Jesus promised and poured out upon all believers.

Think about the story of the woman with the issue of blood for twelve long years. She didn’t wait passively for a divine memorandum or scheduled appointment; she pressed through the crowd, touched the hem of Jesus’ garment in faith, and immediately power flowed out from Him to heal her completely (Luke 8:43-48). Jesus Himself felt the power go out; she felt the healing surge through her body—it was undeniably real and tangible, like a surge of spiritual electricity coursing through a live wire. That’s precisely the kind of dynamic, faith-activated encounter we’re all invited into today. We don’t beg or grovel; we believe and receive, because our judgment was fully settled at the cross, leaving only grace and empowerment ahead for God’s children (Hebrews 12:1-11). Yet, influenced by defective or cessationist theology, some make endless excuses for why the power doesn’t manifest consistently today. They’ll say things like, “Well, we just don’t see it in our experience anymore,” as if their observations are an epistemology over the promises of Scripture.  Seriously, how dumb can you be, to think knowledge comes by observation? That’s not being real; that’s unbelief and delusion.

Vincent Cheung puts it sharply when he writes (paraphrased from “Habitual Sin,” Sermonettes Vol. 6): a stubborn focus on sin or lack can dominate our thinking, but true faith shifts attention to holiness and draws continual strength from Christ’s ongoing work.

 Applying this to the realm of power, if we fixate on our perceived shortcomings or past failures instead of Christ’s finished gospel, we’ll inevitably miss out on His healing, His provision, and even the full baptism of the Holy Spirit. But for those born from above, it’s all ours for the eager asking—persistently, expectantly, just like the disciples waiting obediently in the upper room in Jerusalem. And when that power finally breaks through? Get ready for the unexpected fireworks: explosive boldness to preach the gospel fearlessly, spiritual gifts manifesting suddenly and powerfully, demons fleeing in terror, and sickness bowing in defeat. I’ve experienced this transformation in my own life—after seasons of divine discipline and refining, intentionally focusing on Jesus as the author and perfecter of our faith opened wide doors to greater measures of supernatural power. It’s not theoretical or mystical; it’s functional and practical, directly advancing the kingdom with every single healing, every accurate prophecy, every impossible mountain moved by faith.

So, why on earth would anyone settle for a version of Christianity that’s all eloquent talk and zero thunderous demonstration? The same power of God that rested upon Jesus for healing is now available upon us, accessed through faith and the baptism in the Holy Spirit. It’s not something we earn through performance; it’s something we receive freely because it’s already been accomplished by Christ and we have already be re-created by its effects. If you’re still dragging your feet or making excuses, remember: unbelief actually limited what even Jesus could do in certain places during His ministry (Mark 6:5-6). Don’t let that same unbelief limit God’s power in and through your life. Seek the baptism earnestly, stir up the gifts already within you, command sickness to leave in Jesus’ name by faith, and watch God’s power flow freely. After all, as true heirs of Abraham’s blessing, we’re not beggars scrambling for crumbs outside the gate; we’re beloved sons and daughters seated at the Father’s table, with healing, miracles, deliverance, and every good gift in plentiful supply.

The Bible doesn’t leave us in the dark about how the Holy Spirit operates in distributing His gifts. In 1 Corinthians 12, Paul explains clearly: the Spirit sovereignly distributes the manifestations as He determines, moving where He wills like the unpredictable wind. No one can twist His arm—He’s God, sovereign and free. Yet, immediately following this, Paul flips the perspective in chapter 14: “Pursue love, and earnestly desire the spiritual gifts, especially that you may prophesy” (1 Corinthians 14:1, ESV). Sovereignty doesn’t mean we passively sit on our hands waiting indefinitely; it means we pursue aggressively and eagerly, fully confident that He’s promised regular manifestations to those who hunger and seek Him. It’s reminiscent of the Father’s incredibly generous heart described in Luke 11: “If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” (Luke 11:13, ESV). So ask boldly, seek persistently, knock relentlessly—and expect to receive abundantly. God’s sovereignty isn’t a roadblock or excuse for powerlessness; it’s the rock-solid guarantee that our faithful pursuit will never end in disappointment.

This dynamic will happen frequently in real ministry. The gifts are primarily for the edification and benefit of others. So whenever a genuine need arises and you respond with true compassion, the power of the Spirit will often show up right then to anoint you specifically to meet that need. It doesn’t depend on whether you’ve previously operated easily in that particular gift; you’re freshly anointed in the moment to serve those around you. Of course, some believers may find certain gifts flow more naturally or frequently for them, but many make the grave error of then limiting the Holy Spirit based on that pattern. In reality, all of us, through the same Spirit, have unrestricted access to the full spectrum of God’s power. All it takes is faith to believe, a clear need to address, and genuine compassion to motivate—and the Spirit will desire to flow through you even more eagerly than you desire it yourself.

Just as the woman with the flow of blood dramatically “felt” the healing power surge into her body, the Spirit’s power is often tangible and perceptible. When the healing anointing of the Spirit is sensed or felt by more than one person in the room, we can describe this as the manifesting presence of God has arrived to heal—or to prophesy, or to deliver. This incredible reality is available to every single one of us through the baptism in the Holy Spirit. We all need more of it, deeper immersions, fresh fillings. The needs of hurting people around us, but the power of the Spirit is greater. A combination of faith, compassion, and eagerness to seek this power will inevitably bring results. As Jesus Himself promised, if you seek, you will find (Matthew 7:7, ESV).

Paul reiterates the Spirit’s sovereignty in 1 Corinthians 12: “All these are empowered by one and the same Spirit, who apportions to each one individually as he wills” (1 Corinthians 12:11, ESV). He sovereignly distributes gifts like words of wisdom, words of knowledge, extraordinary faith, gifts of healing, working of miracles, prophecy, discerning of spirits, various kinds of tongues, and interpretation of tongues. It’s entirely His prerogative—no coercion possible. But sovereignty isn’t a restrictive cage; it’s a powerful catapult for those who pursue. Paul doesn’t instruct us to “sit tight and maybe you’ll get something someday.” Instead, he commands: “Earnestly desire the higher gifts” (1 Corinthians 12:31, ESV), and then intensifies the call in chapter 14 to pursue them all actively, especially prophecy. God’s sovereignty has beautifully rigged the system so that sincere seekers consistently hit the jackpot—regular, reliable manifestations of power rather than rare flukes. So if you currently operate more easily in one or two gifts, ok great—keep going! But press in further, and God will expand your capacity to flow in more gifts as you seek Him faithfully. A person’s perceived idea that they are meant to operate in one particular gift, is based only their fleshing induction rather than what the scripture makes available.

Sovereignty isn’t stingy or withholding—it’s extravagantly generous, even breaking through our doubts to deliver miracles when necessary. But why settle for occasional overrides when we can align our hearts with His will and experience constant flow? Active seeking aligns us perfectly, turning “sometimes” into “constant” in practice. The Spirit’s sovereignty assures us that when we chase Him wholeheartedly, He will pour out without measure. As Cheung further notes in “Good Gifts from the Father,” persistently asking for the Holy Spirit unlocks comprehensive power for preaching, healing, casting out demons—everything the kingdom requires, all in one glorious package (Vincent Cheung, 2016). Seek diligently, and the sovereign Spirit will manifest regularly.

Consider the Roman centurion in Matthew 8— he perfectly understood authority and sovereignty, confidently declaring that Jesus could simply speak a command over sickness just as he commanded soldiers. Jesus marveled publicly: “Truly I tell you, I have not found anyone in Israel with such great faith” (Matthew 8:10, ESV). Grasping God’s sovereignty didn’t make the centurion passive or hesitant—it fueled his bold, expectant request. Sickness is ultimately from the devil; it glorifies Satan by sidelining believers and stalling kingdom advance. The Holy Spirit shows up decisively to demolish that oppression, anointing ordinary believers like you and me to heal in the moment—no fancy resume or prior track record required.

Compassion is key.

This anointing will often happen precisely because the gifts are for building up and blessing others. When a real need suddenly appears on the scene, the Spirit provides spot-anointing, equipping you right then and there. You don’t need advanced degrees in spiritual gifts or years of specialized experience; all that’s required is some measure of faith to receive the anointing and genuine compassion to minister to the hurting person.

Sickness originates from the devil; it’s part of the curse of the law that Jesus redeemed us from, and He began demolishing it systematically in His ministry while commanding all His disciples to continue the battle without compromise. We are explicitly commanded to exercise faith for healing—both for ourselves and in compassion for others. Chase prophecy like your spiritual life depends on it—because in many ways, it does. Refusing to pursue prophecy is essentially refusing to pursue God Himself more deeply. Remember Paul’s charge to Timothy: fan into flame the gift of God within you, hold fast to the prophecies spoken over you, and fight the good fight of faith with prophetic power (1 Timothy 1:18; 2 Timothy 1:6-7).  Having compassion and allowing the Spirit to flow through you to help heal, will set a person free from bondage. A prophecy will give them something to fan their faith for a lifetime. And you can be the person to minister this. Young, old, male or female, any can do it. Every power released can save a life, set free and build up for new strength.

In the end, this supernatural power is designed not only for God’s ultimate glory but also for our joy and glory, which then glorifies Him. We do this by faithfully mirroring Jesus’ own ministry on earth. It’s like God’s delightful inside joke: when we step out and wield His power by faith, we get flooded with joy in the process, and everybody wins eternally. So chase Him with everything you’ve got, and watch the power chase right back. Believe expectantly, and you’ll see the sick healed, the oppressed gloriously freed, captives released—just as He did then and empowers us to do now. The question isn’t whether the power is still available today; the real question is whether we’ll grab it with both hands and run with it—like it’s the greatest treasure in the universe. Because, spoiler alert: it is.

Reclaiming What the Enemy Stole

You’ve asked a question that cuts right to the heart of the spiritual battle many believers face: how to recover what the devil has stolen, particularly in areas like health, family relationships, and finances. I appreciate that you did not put on the polished pretense some folks adopt when they’re hurting. That’s refreshing—no time for sleight of hand when the fight is real.

The enemy doesn’t play fair; he slithers in like the serpent he is, aiming to devour and destroy, as Jesus described in John 10:10. Some might forget there is a real fight, a real kingdom battle. Once you sign on to join God’s kingdom, Satan has more reason to steal, kill and destroy you, because of how great of a potential danger you represent if you ever realize how powerful you are. Jesus says Satan does this, not humans. The kingdom of demons are after you. Peter starts the gospel message to the gentiles on this basic contrast of Jesus the good guy, freeing us from the bad guy called the devil (see Vincent Cheung “The Dividing Line”). But here’s the good news, straight from the Scriptures: the thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy, yet Jesus came that we might have life, and have it abundantly. That abundance isn’t some vague spiritual fluff; it’s tangible, covering every area Satan has touched. We’ll unpack this biblically, drawing from God’s Revelation, because human observation is just a fancy way to peddle unbelief. If we’re not swinging the sword of the Spirit with precision, we’re just shadowboxing while the devil laughs at our pathetic swings.

First, understand the source of the theft. The Bible doesn’t mince words: sickness, broken relationships, and lack aren’t badges of piety from a loving Father; they’re Satan’s bit@h slaps across your face. Sickness is Satan’s glory, not God’s. Peter put it plainly in Acts 10:38, describing how Jesus went about healing all who were oppressed by the devil. Oppressed—that’s the key word here. Sickness isn’t God’s mysterious will; it’s demonic victimization pure and simple. Jesus saw it as a direct affront to His Father’s kingdom, smashing it wherever He encountered it, except where unbelief blocked the flow, as in Mark 6:5-6. If sickness were from God on the relational level—where He deals with us through the New Covenant—then Jesus would be a minister of sickness, pain, and oppression. That is a ministry, alright, but that’s Satan’s priesthood, not Jesus’.

He was demolishing the works of the devil (1 John 3:8). The same goes for family strife and financial drought; they’re echoes of the curse in Deuteronomy 28, which Christ redeemed us from, as Galatians 3:13 declares. The Father decided that my curses were taken off me and nailed to Jesus. I agree that God is correct. I don’t bear curses of sickness, financial lack, and relational distress anymore. That old man died with Jesus and my new creation has already been raised with Jesus.

Satan steals health to sideline you, relationships to isolate you, and finances to impoverish your testimony and limit your impact. But God has decreed restoration through faith in Christ’s finished work. And that is the point. Jesus already finished our righteousness, healing, and wealth. We don’t work or earn this, but receive it by faith. Our work is to rest in what Jesus has already worked, and already given to us as part of our identity and definition in Him.

Now, how do we receive it back? It starts with epistemology—our foundation of knowledge. God’s Word is the self-authenticating first principle, the only starting point of knowledge that connects us to reality. Without it, we’re building on less than nothing. Therefore, we can deduce application to ourselves, including faith to move mountains. We know all things are possible for those who believe (Mark 9:23). This isn’t wishful thinking; it’s a syllogism—or the biblical way to say syllogism is faith. Jesus didn’t say “some things” or “spiritual things only”—He said all things. The context was about healing and casting out a demon. Thus, all healing and casting out demons are possible for the one who believes without wavering.

That includes your health, your family bonds, and your wallet. But receiving requires faith without doubting, not passive resignation as a fatalist. We need to have a relentless focus on our healing, on the word of God about healing day and night. We are not to focus on our sickness; we are to focus on the healing already accomplished by Jesus in His finished atonement. Extend that to every stolen area: don’t rehearse the loss; confess dauntless confidence in God’s promises. I mean exactly that and not some passive begging or pleading for God to help. You need to renew the mind on the word of God, day and night, particularly on the good promises in the areas you need miracles. Then hear yourself speak them out loud by bold confessions. That is, confessing them without hedging for any possibility of you not getting what you are saying. The woman stretched out and said, “If I might only touch the edge of his clothes, I WILL BE HEALED.” Bold confession and no hedging whatsoever. Your heart might want to still hedge, but that is irrelevant. You are not confessing your feelings, but faith in the word of God. Hedging is just doubt in a tuxedo—kick it out; God’s promises don’t need a plan B.

Let’s apply this to health first, since it’s often the most immediate battleground. Isaiah 53:4-5 is prophecy fulfilled in Christ’s atonement. Matthew 8:17 confirms it: Jesus took our infirmities and bore our diseases. 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. Satan stole your health? Ok, but it’s not his to keep—demand it back. Command it back in Jesus’ name, with faith that doesn’t waver. Speak to the mountain—be it cancer, chronic pain, or fatigue—and tell it to go (Mark 11:23). If you’re praying for healing while secretly thinking, “Well, maybe God’s teaching me something,” you’re double-minded, and James 1:6-8 says don’t expect to receive anything. God wants your health more than you do; He’s not the cosmic sadist some theologians paint Him as. Those “pseudo-sovereignty” excuses are Satan’s bedtime stories to keep you sick.

Shifting to family relationships, the devil loves to fracture what God designed for unity and strength. Broken bonds aren’t just emotional wreckage; they’re strategic hits to hinder your ministry and your joy. God gave Rebekah to Isaac to comfort him in his grief from Sarah’s death. The blessing of Abraham gives good relationships. Scripture ties this to the blessing of Abraham, which Galatians 3 extends to us Gentiles through faith. Jesus called the bent-over woman a “child of Abraham” (Luke 13:16), using her covenant status as the reason she must be loosed from Satan’s bondage—not optional, but necessary and mandatory. Apply that here: as heirs of Abraham’s blessing, which includes relational harmony under God’s favor, you have authority to bind the enemy’s division and loose forgiveness, reconciliation, and love. If you need to ask forgiveness then ask them. If not plausible for you to talk to them, stand before the presence of God, because you are already seated there with Christ. In God’s mind you are already in the throne room before Him. You need to catch up to your true identity in Christ. So, stand before God and ask for help. Stand before God, in the Spirit, and confess that you have forgiven and if you need to do something, that once God opens the door, you will do what God has asked you to do. Tell God, as you stand before Him, that you consider the relationship reconciled and healed.

If you need to forgive, then forgive them outright. Ephesians 4:32 says, forgiving as Christ forgave. This doesn’t mean to open the door to abusive people; but the context is for a relationship you want restored. Jesus not only became our sins to give us righteousness but also He is our “sanctification.” It’s His responsibility to sanctify us. Rest and confess in His power to soften your heart. Pray in faith for softened hearts, commanding peace in Jesus’ name. If you’re harboring bitterness, that’s your disobedience handing Satan more rope to hang you with. And when he does it, don’t you dare blame God for your own stupidity—own it. When you are doing something wrong you won’t receive a complete or permanent miracle if you keep sinning. Sin won’t keep a miracle from you, because Jesus healed all who came to Him, but the miracle won’t last if you don’t address the root of the disobedient behavior. Sin didn’t stop anyone from receiving their healing miracle, but if not stopped, it can reopen the door to allow the devil to harass you with more sickness again. This can happen back and forth for a while, but eventually the reopening door can give birth to death; the devil can sling such a fast sickness on you, you die before you can focus your faith. But with faith you can always receive your miracle on demand, no matter what; every single time.

Finances follow the same pattern—Satan steals provision to mock God’s promises, to keep you unhappy, to keep you from your inheritance in Christ and restrict God’s kingdom from being financed properly. However, the Bible counters with abundance. Deuteronomy 28:1-14 lists prosperity as part of obedience’s blessing. The good news is that Jesus was obedient for us in our place and then credited His righteousness to our account, so that we are perfectly obedient and righteous in God’s sight. Forever and irrevocable. We’re not under the law’s curse but under grace, where God supplies all needs according to His riches in glory (Philippians 4:19). Not us supplying it, no. God supplies it to us. It’s His responsibility. We receive it by faith.

God’s covenant with Abraham included supernatural healing, not sickness. If sickness or financial lack happens, God did not send it (Isaiah 54). Someone else sent it, not God.

Broaden that to provision; Abraham’s blessing encompasses material wealth (Genesis 13:2), and we’re heirs (Galatians 3:29). To receive back stolen finances, sow in faith—tithe, give generously—and confess Scriptures like Psalm 23:1, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” Confess, “I agree with you Jesus. You are correct. You took on my poverty and already gave me your wealth. You give me wealth transfers from the wicked and give me the power to gain wealth. My experience of lack is a lie against your truth; forgive me. I declare my lack broken. Thank you.”

Command increase in Jesus’ name, believing it’s already yours. “Whatever is hindering my finances I command you to stop. I command wealth to find its way into my bank account.” Ask God for wisdom in how to gain wealth, and for ideas for a new product to sell. God will give liberally.

Don’t fall for the prosperity-gospel-lite nonsense. Paul says Jesus took on our poverty. That is, in God’s eyes, my lack was transferred on Jesus, like the scapegoat, and Jesus carried away my poverty to the cross, where He died with my poverty. I don’t have it, because Jesus took it away, in the mind of God. And God’s mind is the only mind that matters. But it also says Jesus gave us His wealth. This is the same Paul who spoke of substitutionary atonement as, Jesus took on our sins and gave us the righteousness of God. This is true, because God thinks it is true in His mind. It is a true exchange. Not later in heaven, but right now I am the righteousness of God. Because I am righteous I am already seated in the heavenly places with Christ and my prayers are powerfully effective. Paul says the same about financial wealth. I already have the wealth of Jesus. If I don’t see it, it is because I am so lazy there is nothing for God to increase the work of my hands. You have to do something. But it is also lack of knowledge and faith. The normal or regular way to gain wealth is God supernaturally giving you favor and power to gain wealth in what you do. But there are many other ways as well. God causes the pagans to freely give wealth to the righteous, such as Egypt giving their riches to the Israelites. Or kings giving ransoms to Abraham. You can have faith to multiply material substance. The list goes on and on for many various ways for miracle money to bless you. Satan’s financial purse snatch? More like a speed bump for the faithful—run him over.

God has given us this wealth in Jesus to simply bless us with joy and happiness. The other reason to bless others and finance the Kingdom of God. Satan wants to cockblock the saints from their inheritance and many allow him to do so. But you, do not allow it for a moment. Grab Satan by the head and slam his face in the ground over and over, and tell him he will get the same treatment if he shows his ugly face again.

This is Christianity 101. It’s what we all should have been doing all along. Immerse yourself in Scripture day and night, as Joshua 1:8 commands, meditating on promises until you automatically find yourself speaking the word and promise of God, rather than your circumstance or feelings. You will know when your mind keeps replaying God’s promises, seeing yourself in a good future of the promise, rather than fear of the future. Confess them aloud—faith comes by hearing (Romans 10:17). For health, declare Isaiah 53 daily; for family, pray unity from Psalm 133; for finances, claim 3 John 2’s prosperity in soul and body. Etc. I have made many lists over the years of promise verses and have pounded them in my head to the point I wanted to scream, but I kept at it until my mind changed.

Avoid unbelief peddlers who say, “Maybe it’s God’s will”—that’s devil dogmatics, staining their hands with the blood of God’s saints. Chase prophecy and spiritual gifts too, as Paul urged Timothy (1 Timothy 1:18, 4:14); they empower the fight. If needed, seek elders for anointing (James 5:14-15), but your own faith is the key. There is no substitute for your own faith in the promises of God.

Remember your identity: seated with the resurrected Christ, far above all powers (Ephesians 2:6). Your new creation isn’t a refurbished version of your old self; it’s a total reboot, a supernatural species upgrade. Satan stole? Big deal—Jesus stripped him at the cross (Colossians 2:15). Due to our imperfect faith, it’s not always instant, but it’s inevitable for the believer who stands firm. Mature faith will see constant and instant results. We are all to strive to get to that place of maturity. And if doubt creeps in, laugh it off—Satan’s the ultimate loser, after all, a cosmic joke with no punchline left.

Do Not Expect a Small Payout

The Bible doesn’t let thieves off easy; in fact, it demands restitution that multiplies the loss, turning the tables on the enemy with divine justice. Take Exodus 22:1-4, where a thief caught stealing an ox must repay fivefold, and for a sheep, four times over—God’s law embedding a principle that wrongdoers don’t just return what’s taken but cough up extra to make the victim whole and then some. Proverbs 6:31 ramps it up, declaring that even if a thief steals out of desperation, once nabbed, he must restore sevenfold, even if it costs him everything in his house.

This isn’t just Old Testament law; it’s a shadow of the greater reality in Christ, where Satan, the ultimate thief, gets hit with the same demand—hard.

Joel 2:25 captures God’s prophetic heart: “I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten, the hopper, the destroyer, and the cutter, my great army which I sent among you.” What the “worm” or locust devoured—those seasons of health drained, relationships frayed, finances stripped—God promises to repay in abundance, not stingily but lavishly. Don’t you dare limit God and look for a small payout. Isaiah 43:19-20 echoes this turnaround: “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert… to give drink to my chosen people.”

Picture it—streams gushing in barren wastelands, life where death once reigned. As a new creation in Christ (2 Corinthians 5:17), this restoration kicks in automatically, because our new creation is already a reality. Our new creation is already us, already here. We are new creatures in Christ. Not going to be, we are. Thus, many things happen automatically to some degree; the old barren life is gone, and the abundant one has begun, with blessings already deposited in your spiritual account. Ephesians says that all spiritual blessings (which is the foundation for all material blessings) have already been given to us. Not later, we already have ALL blessings given to us. But to unlock that hundredfold return on these blessings already given—you’ve got to receive it through faith. There is no substitute for this or a way to skip this part. Paul said in Galatians 3 that by faith they had been experiencing the power of the Spirit and miracles, which Paul then says was given to them as the blessing of Abraham in Jesus’ exchange for taking our curses. The point is this, by faith the Galatians received the blessings of Abraham in miracles, but the miracles stopped because they stopped using faith and tried using the works of the law. Thus, even though they already had the blessing of Abraham they could forfeit receiving the benefits of miracles by lack of faith. You need faith to receive them—no shortcuts.

Renew your mind with Scripture (Romans 12:2), make bold faith confessions like commanding mountains to move (Mark 11:23), persist in prayer (James 5:15), build yourself up by praying in tongues, keeping yourself in God’s love (Jude 1:20), and straight-up order the devil to release what’s yours, wielding the authority Christ gave over all the enemy’s power (Luke 10:19). We don’t beg like we once did. Now it’s enforcing the court order from heaven’s throne—and frankly, if Satan’s been joyriding in your stolen goods, it’s high time he pays the premium price with interest.

Baptism in the Holy Spirit isn’t some optional upgrade; it’s the power surge that turns faith from a flickering candle into a blazing inferno, equipping you for the ministry battles the disciples themselves couldn’t tackle without it. Jesus didn’t mince words in Acts 1:4-5,8, instructing His followers to wait in Jerusalem for the promise of the Father: “John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit… you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses.” The disciples, fresh from resurrection encounters, still needed this empowerment before launching into global ministry—think about that, if those eyewitnesses required it, how much more do we in our doubt-prone age? This baptism ties directly to Jesus’ exaltation, seated at the right hand of Power (Mark 14:62), from where He pours out the Spirit as Acts 2:33 describes: “Being therefore exalted at the right hand of God, and having received from the Father the promise of the Holy Spirit, he has poured out this that you yourselves are seeing and hearing.”

We’ve got access to the same explosive force that shook Pentecost, manifesting in miracles, healings, and prophecies to demolish Satan’s strongholds. But here’s where it gets practical and, yeah, a bit relentless: pray in tongues day and night! Yes, you heard that right—day and night, as 1 Corinthians 14:18 shows Paul thanking God he spoke in tongues more than anyone. When it feels excessive, like you’re overdoing it, don’t back off; ramp it up even more, because as Jude 1:20 puts it, you’re building yourselves up on your most holy faith, praying in the Holy Spirit, and it keeps you in God’s love. I would say keeping yourself in God’s love is important—crucial, even. Thus, pray in tongues. Tongues is charging your spirit, aligning with God so that His awesome power floods into your life. Ask boldly for interpretations to unlock deeper insights (1 Corinthians 14:13), and crave more manifestations—word of knowledge, gifts of healing, workings of miracles (1 Corinthians 12:7-11)—in God’s presence. Without this power meshed with your faith, you’re swinging a sword with no edge; but dive in, and watch the supernatural become your everyday reality, just as Jesus intended. Tongues isn’t weird—it’s Zues’ lightning bolt. You need it to win the battles.

Slam Satan’s Face in the Ground

Lastly, it’s time to get violent with Satan, that slimy defeated foe who’s been bluffing his way through your life like a poker player with a pair of twos. And yet, you have a royal flush in your hand, and you act like you have no backbone? Ephesians 2:6 spells it out: you’re already seated in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, far above all rule and authority, power and dominion, not groveling below like some spiritual doormat. You already have rivers of living water flowing from your belly. It is already happening. The devil defied the saints of God. But Jesus with one stone, killed Satan and cut off his head. The reason Satan has been beating you up is because he lied to you. He has been whispering how small and weak you are, but now that you’ve awakened to this deception and are striving to be strong in the Lord, passivity is out—done.

By the explosive force of the Holy Spirit and unyielding faith, grab Satan by the back of the head, and start to slam his smug face into the pavement over and over until it’s a bloody pulp, and then keep going for good measure. If he whimpers and begs for mercy, don’t you dare let up—laugh in his face. Satan wants God’s elect to be in pain, and time-constrained with sickness and then an early death. But you’re holding all the cards: he’s already stripped and shamed at the cross (Colossians 2:15), you wield the raw, rivers-of-living-water power of the Spirit (John 7:38-39), Jesus’ name is etched on your tongue as a royal heir so that you can speak and command mountains to move. You are a royal priesthood backed by God’s unassailable authority (1 Peter 2:9), His gifts and callings are irrevocable (Romans 11:29). You always have this authority and firepower—it’s your birthright in the new creation—so unleash it relentlessly, turning harassment into humiliation for that cosmic loser, because not doing this is exactly why he’s lingered like a bad odor all these years.

Slam his face in the ground and praise God that He has given you the victory, power and authority in Jesus Christ.

May God bless you as you reclaim your inheritance. May the kingdom of darkness scream in terror at your approach. And may the Kingdom of God advance when you advance.

Samson Is Honey On God’s Lips

Samson, the muscle-bound judge who could bench-press city gates in faith but couldn’t find one believing friend in the entire land. You’ve heard the Sunday school version: Samson the strongman, brought low by a haircut and a honey trap. But let’s cut through the atheistic interpretation that too many preachers pile on. The real story isn’t a cautionary tale about lust or bad hair days; it’s a stark expose on faith versus unbelief, where even pagans grasp God’s power better than His own people. As Vincent Cheung aptly sums it up in The Shadow of Christ, “His parents misunderstood him, his wife betrayed him, his countrymen abandoned him, and his enemies hounded him.” That’s the setup, but the punchline? The enemies got the theology right, while the faithless in Israel fumbled it like a greased pig.

The story of Samson teaches that when power is needed, then only faith to work superman power will get the job done. It’s great to have an honourable marriage bed, but it will not rip city gates out of the ground. Holiness cannot compensate for miracle working faith, when miracles are needed. There is no substitute for this. It teaches that God stamps his sign of approval on people who have faith. This is why Samson is a hero of faith. God honors Samson in Hebrews 11 alongside Moses and David, not for flawless morals, but for faith that moved mountains—or in his case, temple pillars. God spotlights Samson’s faith with a smile on His faith. His name is gravel in mouth of the faithless, but Samson is honey on God’s lips.

Let’s rewind to Judges 13-16, where the drama unfolds. God handpicks Samson from the womb, announcing through an angel that this Nazirite kid will “begin the deliverance of Israel from the hands of the Philistines” (Judges 13:5, NIV). No small task—the Philistines are oppressing Israel, and oppression isn’t just bad luck; it’s a slap in the face to God’s promises. Remember, God swore to Abraham an “exceedingly great reward” (Genesis 15:1), blessing his descendants with land, prosperity, and victory over enemies. For Israel to cower under Philistine thumbs wasn’t mere hardship; it was disobedience, a failure to showcase God’s glory. They were meant to be a billboard for divine favor, not a doormat. Yet, when Samson steps up—ripping lions apart, torching fields with fox-tails, and slaying a thousand with a donkey’s jawbone—his own people treat him like a liability. The faithless do the same today. If you have faith, they treat you like a liability. This is the same game.

Take Judges 15:9-13. After Samson unleashes holy havoc on the Philistines, burning their crops in retaliation for their treachery, the men of Judah—three thousand strong—march up to bind him and hand him over. “Don’t you realize that the Philistines are rulers over us?” they whine. “What have you done to us?” (Judges 15:11, NIV). These are God’s chosen, the descendants of Abraham, moaning like defeated slaves. Gideon routed Midian with 300 faithful; Samson could’ve turned the tide with a fraction of that if Israel had believed. But no—they betray their own deliverer, tying him up like a sacrificial lamb. It’s not just abandonment; it’s a betrayal of God Himself, who publicly revealed Samson’s calling. Israel refuses to believe their own God can help them. Unbelief doesn’t just blind; it turns you into a traitor. Unbelief in God’s word makes you blind and stupid. Jesus had these type statements after both multiplication miracles, ‘Why is it that you still do not understand?’ Then we are told why the disciples were so stupid. “For they had not understood about the loaves, because their heart was hardened.” Being amazed at miracles isn’t a compliment—it’s a diagnosis of heart so hard with unbelief it makes granite stone envious.

Samson becomes a lone ranger not by choice, (as Vincent helped me understand better) but because faithlessness forces it on him. His family? They misunderstand him. (Judges 14:4). His wife? Betrays him for silver, weeping him into revealing his riddle (Judges 14:16-17). His countrymen? They abandon him in masse, preferring chains to change. Even Jeremiah had a scribe to jot down his prophecies, but Samson? Utterly alone, because no one else had faith in God—to join the fight.

And so, the legacy of the faithless is trash: they abandon God’s man, force him into isolation, then blame him for going solo. Worthless garbage, is putting it mildly without crossing into outright comedy. It’s like watching a team bench their MVP because they’re afraid of winning, and then blame MVP for not winning. This is all too common among the unbelieving. To have doubts in God’s promises for victory is to assign yourself to loss and misery.

Now, contrast this with the Philistines, those Dagon-worshipping heathens. They drag a blinded Samson to Gaza—the very city where he once uprooted the gates and hauled them off like oversized luggage (Judges 16:3)—to mock him in a grand religious bash. Thousands pack the temple, praising Dagon for handing over “our enemy… who laid waste our land and multiplied our slain” (Judges 16:23-24, NIV). Here’s the irony that stings: the Philistines recognize Samson as God’s weapon against them. They see his strength as divinely sourced, his victories as assaults from Israel’s God. Capturing him? That’s Dagon triumphing over Yahweh in their minds—a worldview clash where gods duke it out through human proxies. In modern terms, they grasp the theological stakes: this isn’t just personal beef; it’s cosmic warfare. “Our god has given our enemy into our hand, the ravager of our country” (Judges 16:24, ESV). They attribute Samson’s power to divine favor, even if misdirected to the wrong deity.

Meanwhile, Israel? Crickets on the theology front. Their own church-going peers—yes, Israel was the church then, God’s assembly—lack the faith to see Samson as God’s hammer. They’re so busy not believing, they miss the obvious. The Philistines, enemies though they are, have better theology here: they understand the implications of a God-empowered man wreaking havoc. It’s like the demons in the Gospels who recognize Jesus as “the Holy One of God” (Mark 1:24) while the Pharisees scoff. Unbelief dulls the senses worse Pharisee compassion.

This isn’t ancient history; it’s today’s mirror. Faithless Christians peddle unbelief like it’s gospel, sidelining miracles, healing, and power because “that’s not for us.” They mock bold faith as a liability, just as Israel handed over Samson as if he was the danger, and not their own unbelief. But our enemies? Atheists, skeptics, even cults—they often see the worldview clash clearer. They know if Christianity’s claims are true, their wisdom and power are a facade. We claim a God who parts seas and raises dead; they call our bluff when we settle for mediocrity.

The faithless have no redeeming qualities, because they make our enemies look enlightened. The are salt, with not even a hint of saltiness left. Worse than trash.  

I give you permission to leave the Philistine camp of unbelief. Join God in approving Samson as a faith giant. Believe big, fight hard, and watch reality obey. After all, if pagans can spot divine power, shouldn’t we? Let’s not be the ones hardening hearts while enemies applaud the show. Faith isn’t optional; it’s the hammer that crushes oppression.

Wield it, or get out of the way.

[See “The True Story of Samson, by Vincent Cheung, who has helped me understand this story better.]

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