Category Archives: Extra Thoughts

God Made the Gospel First

Let’s dive straight into Genesis, because that’s where God lays out His blueprint for how He operates with us. On the day Adam was created, God had already created the whole world, and then crafted the Garden of Eden—rich, overflowing with gold in Havilah, fruitful trees dangling low-hanging delights, rivers teeming with life, and a landscape screaming abundance. Genesis 2:11-12 doesn’t mince words: gold, bdellium, onyx stones—all there, ready and waiting. God didn’t plop Adam down in a barren wasteland and say, “Earn your keep, buddy.” No, He prepared the whole prosperous paradise first, then created Adam and handed him the keys. Dominion? Check. Wealth management? Absolutely. Adam’s job wasn’t to scrape together provision; it was to steward the riches God had already supplied.

Imagine Adam strolling through, a mango smacking him square in the face, and him turning to Eve with a puzzled look: “Honey, do you think it’s God’s will for me to eat this? Or did God create me so that He could pimp-slap my face with sugary fruit, and then deny it to my stomach?” We’d laugh at such nonsense—it’s sub-animal-level stupid, the kind of delusion that makes you wonder if the guy’s got all his marbles. But that’s exactly how too many Christians approach the gospel today, tiptoeing around blessings like they’re booby-trapped and unsure if they belong to them.

This isn’t some cute analogy; it’s God’s unchanging pattern. He creates the good stuff first—unmerited, lavish, complete—and then gifts it to His people. God’s unmerited favor supplies man; man does not supply God. Adam didn’t sweat for Eden; Eden was ready-made, a divine trust fund dropped in his lap. Fast-forward to Abraham, and you see the same rhythm. Genesis 12:2-3: God promises to bless him, make him great, enlarge his territory—before Abraham lifts a finger beyond faith. And boy, did it pour out: livestock, silver, gold, victories over kings (Genesis 13:2, 14:16). Abraham’s blessing wasn’t piecemeal; it was a pre-packaged explosion of prosperity, miracles, and favor, all because God sovereignly decided to give it by unmerited favor. Paul hammers this in Galatians 3:8-9, calling it the gospel announced in advance: righteousness by faith, and with it, the full blessing kit—including wealth, health, and supernatural power. God didn’t wait for Abraham to prove himself; He prepared the covenant riches first, then called him into it.

Now, zoom in on the gospel itself—the ultimate fulfillment. Ephesians 1:3 blasts it: “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ.” Notice the past tense: “has blessed.” It’s already done, prepped before you were a twinkle in your parents’ eyes. God didn’t scramble to whip up salvation after Adam blew it; no, Revelation 13:8 calls Jesus the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world. The atonement? Finished in God’s mind before creation. The New Covenant? Sealed in blood, with all its perks—forgiveness, righteousness, healing, prosperity, the baptism of power—locked and loaded before you repented. Jesus didn’t die hoping you’d accept; He died knowing the elect would, because God predestined it (Ephesians 1:4-5). The gospel isn’t a reaction; it’s God’s proactive masterpiece, crafted in eternity and unveiled in time. Like Eden, the whole package is ready: low-hanging fruits of healing (Isaiah 53:5), prosperity (2 Corinthians 8:9), and mountain-moving authority (Mark 11:23). They’re slapping believers in the face as we walk by, yet so many stand there debating: “Is it God’s will for me to be healed today? Or does He want me to suffer for character?” Come on—that’s not humility; that’s unbelief dressed in pious rags.

Think about the horror-movie twist some theologians peddle: God dangles milk and honey, then yanks it away with “Not today, kid—builds resilience.” That’s Satan’s playbook, not God’s. I recall a commercial where a guy feasts on cookies, only to find every milk carton empty, realizing he’s in hell. God isn’t a demon toying with us. Jesus’ priesthood seats us in heavenly places (Ephesians 2:6), showering “all spiritual blessings”—which spill over into material reality because spiritual power is the parent cause for all motions in the material world. Abraham’s blessing? Yours now, including wealth and health (Galatians 3:14). Jesus’ atonement? It swapped your poverty for His riches, your sickness for health—not metaphorically, but really (Matthew 8:17). In God’s sovereign thoughts, it’s already transferred. God’s Word is His will. No guesswork—He said it, so agree with Him. Confess it.

Reprobates and faith-fumblers love complicating this. They focus on men—Adam’s fall, Abraham’s tests, your failures—and ignore God’s preemptive grace. They do this because reprobates focus on men; Christians focus on God. They say, “Prosperity? That’s greedy, but God has called us to suffer nobly.” However, that’s glorifying the curse, siding with the thief who steals and destroys (John 10:10). Jesus came for abundant life—now, not just pie-in-the-sky. In the Garden, provision was effortless; in Christ, it’s the same. Faith isn’t earning; it’s receiving what’s already given. James 1:17: Every good gift comes from the Father, unchanging. He prepared the gospel’s riches—forgiveness to wipe your slate, righteousness to make you bold, healing to crush Satan’s works, prosperity to fund kingdom expansion—then sovereignly called you into it. God didn’t leave it to chance; He predestined your reception.

What does low-hanging fruit look like? Jesus says, “Your faith has healed you” (Mark 5:34). In the gospel, as in the Garden, prosperity is slapping your face. That is, if Adam was walking in the Garden stuffed with trees filled with fruit, they would be brushing up against him as he walked. The same is with the gospel already being finished and God placing us in it. If you walk around in the gospel, the fruit will be brushing up against you. The only way it won’t is if you are filled with unbelief and doubts. If you are walking by faith in the gospel, then take what God has already given you. Don’t let God’s blessings smack you in the face and keep walking by, disrespecting God’s goodness as if it was of little value.

Confess Deuteronomy 8:18: God gives power to create wealth. Miracles? Ask and receive. You even have the option to command miracles. Jesus has already made you a royal priesthood, who is privileged to use His name and ask for anything you want. This is already your reality. You are already the righteousness of God in Christ (2 Corinthians 5:21), co-heir with Jesus (Romans 8:17). Therefore, walk boldly and approach the throne (Hebrews 4:16); ask and receive. If doubt creeps in, resist it like the devil it is—fleeing required (James 4:7).

In my own trek, losing my twin Joshua could’ve derailed me into poverty theology. But no—God’s prepped gospel held: healing for grief, provision amid loss. I poured faith into pages, birthing my Systematic Theology, because blessings don’t wait for perfect circumstances; rather, they are already given and my possession by grace. Don’t join the faithless jerks, tossing God’s goodness into the trash. Agree with God by confessing: “The gospel is already mine; Jesus has already given His righteousness recorded to my account by grace. I already have the blessing of Abraham. I already am a royal priesthood. I’m already sitting in the heavenly places with Jesus above all names and times. I already have the same power that raised Jesus from the dead working and flowing in and out of me. I already have the rivers of living waters flowing out of me. I already have the Name of Jesus engraved on my tongue.”

Pluck those fruits; they’re slapping you in the face for a reason. I will give you a hint. God put them face level, not for you to ram your face into them, but to make it easy for you to pluck them and ram them down your throat.

Your Blessed: Even If You’re in the Wrong

September 28, 2025 

Let’s dive straight into the heart of God’s unshakeable covenant with His people, a truth that shines through the stories of Abraham and Isaac like a divine spotlight cutting through the fog of human failure. In Genesis 12:10-20, Abraham, driven by famine, heads to Egypt and pulls a fast one: he tells Pharaoh that Sarah is his sister, not his wife, fearing for his life. Technically, she’s a half-sister, but the omission is a lie by any honest measure. Yet, when Pharaoh takes Sarah into his palace, God doesn’t thunder down on Abraham with a rebuke. Instead, He plagues Pharaoh’s household, forcing the king to confront the deception and send Abraham away loaded with wealth—silver, gold, livestock. Abraham is in the wrong and God slaps Pharaoh instead. Think about that.  Abraham walks out richer, unscathed, while the pagan ruler gets the divine smackdown. Fast-forward to Genesis 26:6-11, and Isaac pulls the same stunt with Rebekah in Gerar, claiming she’s his sister to King Abimelech. Again, no heavenly finger-wagging at Isaac. Isaac not only escapes harm but reaps a hundredfold harvest in a drought-stricken land (v. 12), blessing upon blessing despite his fear-driven fib.

This isn’t sloppy storytelling in Scripture; it’s a deliberate showcase of God’s covenant loyalty, a Contract so ironclad that it overrides human sins and turns them into triumphs. God’s unmerited favor supplies man; man does not supply God. Abraham and Isaac weren’t earning brownie points here—they were fumbling in fear, yet God’s promise to Abraham in Genesis 12:2-3 (“I will bless you… and you will be a blessing”) kicks in like an unstoppable force. The Almighty rebukes kings, plagues palaces, and pours out prosperity, all while His chosen ones learn on the job. It’s almost comical, in a sobering way: picture Pharaoh scratching his head over sudden household chaos, or Abimelech sweating through a nightmare, while the real culprits—Abraham and Isaac—stroll away with upgrades. God isn’t winking at sin; He’s demonstrating that His Contract isn’t fragile like human deals. It’s sovereign, absolute, and directly orchestrated to showcase His glory through imperfect vessels.

Now, zoom out to the bigger picture: this covenant power isn’t ancient history; it’s amplified in the New Contract through Jesus Christ. Galatians 3:29 declares, “If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” That promise? The blessing of Abraham, including supernatural favor that makes kings back off and resources multiply, even when we’ve messed up. Jesus became the curse for us (Galatians 3:13), swapping our failures for His righteousness, so that God’s contract with us—sealed in blood—guarantees ongoing goodness. Hebrews 8:10-12 spells it out: God writes His laws on our hearts, calls us His people, and remembers our sins no more. This isn’t license to abuse grace, as Paul warns in Romans 6:1-2—we don’t sin so grace abounds. But it is a reminder that God’s favor isn’t performance-based; it’s promise-based. When we stumble, He doesn’t abandon ship; He rebukes the “kings” in our lives—be they bosses, circumstances, or even demonic forces—and redirects the fallout to our benefit. Think of it: your mistake at work leads to a promotion because God stirs favor; a health scare turns into miraculous recovery because the Contract (not your performance) demands healing. Reprobates scoff at this, calling it “health and wealth heresy,” because they would rather trample Jesus blood and believe in Him.  

Yet, here’s where faith enters the fray, and it’s not optional—it’s the ignition switch. Abraham and Isaac’s stories show God’s initiative, but our response matters. In both cases, their partial truths stemmed from fear, not faith, yet God honored the underlying covenant. For us, post-cross, we’re called to higher: Our faith needs to catch up to who we already are in Christ. Ephesians 2:6 seats us with Christ in heavenly realms, far above earthly kings and blunders. But if we wallow in guilt or unbelief after a slip-up, we limit God, confessing our mess instead of His mercy. Jesus modeled this perfectly: even when Peter denied Him, Christ didn’t rebuke with threats but restored him (John 21:15-19), focusing on future fruit. We’re not to abuse grace by plotting deceptions, but when we falter by the weakness of the flesh, God’s contract kicks in. He promises in Romans 8:28 to work all things for good, rebuking obstacles and supplying needs.

This truth dismantles defective ethics that peddle guilt as godliness.  Faith-fumblers, preach a gospel where God’s always mad, ready to zap you for every misstep. Nonsense. The same love the Father has for Jesus, He gives to His elect. If God rebuked kings for Abraham’s sake, how much more for us, united with the resurrected Christ? We’re His children, not probationary hires. He promises in Psalm 105:14-15, “He allowed no one to oppress them; for their sake he rebuked kings: ‘Do not touch my anointed ones; do my prophets no harm.'” That’s Contract protection, extending to us as Abraham’s heirs.

Let these stories fuel bold confession: “God, even in my stumbling, Your Contract stands; rebuke the ‘kings’ in my path and pour out Your goodness.” Faith catches up by meditating on promises day and night (Psalm 1:2-3), assenting to God’s definitions over our feelings. You’re not defined by mistakes; you’re defined by the Contract—accomplished, effective, eternal. And if He rebuked pharaohs for patriarchs, imagine what He’ll do for you. It’s not arrogance; it’s agreement with Scripture.

Satan’s Sticky Fingers: Robbed of Speech

Sept / 16 / 2025

“A spirit has robbed him of speech.”

Picture this: a desperate father, elbowing through a crowd in ancient Galilee, clutching the frayed edges of his hope like a man who’s just realized his wallet’s gone missing in a divine pickpocket scheme. “Teacher,” he blurts out in Mark 9:17, “I brought you my son, who is possessed by a spirit that has *robbed* him of speech.” Robbed. Not gently borrowed, not misplaced in some cosmic filing error—robbed. As if Satan himself is out there running a black-market operation on human dignity, snatching voices, health, and futures with the glee of a thief who knows the cops are on coffee break. And Jesus? He’s not there to commiserate over the loss. No, He’s the divine restitution agent, the one who turns the tables and declares, in essence, “That’s not how this story ends.” Because while Satan steals, kills, and destroys, Jesus—that is, God in the flesh—shows up to give life, and life to the full (John 10:10). It’s a total takedown, a comprehensive comeback, where the enemy’s heists meet their match in the King’s vault of abundance.

Let’s not rush past that word, though: “robbed”. The NIV nails it here, capturing the raw theft at play. This isn’t some vague affliction drifting in from the ether; it’s a deliberate grab, a demonic mugging. The father isn’t whining about a genetic glitch or the general brokenness of a fallen world—he’s pointing the finger straight at the spirit doing the dirty work. And Jesus doesn’t correct him with a theological footnote about Adam’s ancient fumble in the garden. No, He rolls up His sleeves, rebukes the foul spirit, and sends it packing, leaving the boy whole. It’s a scene that echoes through the Gospels like a divine audit: Satan as the ultimate con artist, pilfering what God intended for flourishing. But here’s the frank truth, straight from the self-authenticating pages of Scripture—our epistemology’s unyielding foundation: This robbery isn’t God’s idea. It’s not His script. God doesn’t script poverty of body or spirit; He authors prosperity, health, and unhindered communion. To think otherwise is to buy into the devil’s counterfeit theology, where lack masquerades as piety and suffering as sanctity. What a con. What a waste.

Dig a little deeper into Jesus’ ministry, and you see this contrast isn’t a one-off plot twist—it’s the central narrative arc. From the synagogue in Capernaum to the dusty roads of Judea, Jesus doesn’t just forgive sins in some ethereal corner of the soul; He pairs it with healing the body, restoring the broken, and multiplying the loaves like He’s got a divine expense account with no limits. Remember the paralytic lowered through the roof in Mark 2? “Son, your sins are forgiven,” Jesus declares. The scribes mutter about blasphemy, so He follows up: “Which is easier: to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Get up, take your mat and walk’?” Then—bam—the man walks. Forgiveness and function, absolution and ability, bundled together like a covenant combo meal. It’s total salvation on display, where spiritual restoration isn’t isolated from material wholeness. Satan robs on both fronts: voices silenced in shame, bodies bent in pain, wallets emptied in want. But Jesus? His life-giving ministry hits back harder, broader, deeper. He doesn’t offer a half-measure grace that patches the soul while leaving the flesh to fester. No, He restores the whole package, because anything less would dishonor the God who, from Genesis onward, pronounced creation “very good”—abundant, integrated, thriving.

And let’s not kid ourselves: This robbery extends to the material realm, too. The same spirit that mutes a boy’s speech whispers lies about scarcity, convincing folks that God’s too stingy for silver or too sovereign to care about supper. But Scripture shreds that nonsense. Satan steals health *and* wealth, binding people in cycles of lack that mock the Creator’s generosity. Look at the widow’s oil in 2 Kings 4—multiplied by God’s word through Elisha—or Abraham’s flocks swelling under heaven’s favor. These aren’t anomalies; they’re previews of the blessing that flows from faith. Jesus embodies it fully: feeding five thousand from a boy’s lunch, turning water to wine without a single budget meeting. His high priesthood isn’t one of half-rations and holy poverty; it’s the ministry of righteousness, healing, and prosperity (as Peter sums it up in Acts 10:38). To claim Jesus as your priest while nursing a theology of deprivation is like hiring a chef who specializes in feasts and then settling for stale bread. It’s not devotion; it’s delusion. God’s unmerited favor supplies man—man doesn’t supply God. Satan peddles the lie that lack builds character; Jesus proves abundance glorifies the Father.

Now, pivot to that sevenfold restoration—the Bible’s bold promise of over-the-top payback. Joel 2:25 thunders it: “I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten—the great locust and the young locust, the other locusts and the locust swarm—my great army that I sent among you.” Not just a refund, mind you, but a surplus, a divine interest rate that turns theft into treasure. Zechariah 9:12 echoes the vibe: “Return to your fortress, you prisoners of hope; even now I announce that I will restore twice as much to you.” Twice? Try seven, as the pattern holds from Job’s double-down restoration to the prodigal’s fatted calf welcome. This isn’t cosmic compensation for pity’s sake; it’s God’s sovereign logic at work, where what the enemy meant for ruin becomes rocket fuel for glory. Satan robs your speech? God restores your voice—with volume, clarity, and a testimony that echoes through eternity. He robs your health? Expect not just mending, but vitality that turns heads and topples strongholds. Wealth pilfered? Watch as storehouses overflow, not from sweat alone, but from the blessing of Abraham crashing through the gates of grace.

But here’s where the rubber meets the road, and the wit turns a shade sharper: If the curse of Adam looms in the background—and it does, that primal fracture rippling through creation—Jesus didn’t leave it hanging like a bad sequel. Galatians 3:13 lays it bare: “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, for it is written: ‘Cursed is everyone who is hung on a pole.'” Substitutionary atonement in action: Jesus absorbs the thorns, the sweat, the silence of the tomb, so you get the garden’s bounty. The father in Mark 9 doesn’t blame Adam’s echo; he names the demon. Jesus doesn’t theologize about original sin; He evicts the intruder. The bent-over woman in Luke 13? “Ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan has kept bound for eighteen long years, be set free on the Sabbath day?” Satan, not some vague curse, gets the credit for the crook in her spine. Sure, the Fall set the stage for such invasions, but Jesus spotlights the squatter, the thief in the night. And why? Because pinpointing the robber empowers the resistance. If it’s just “the curse,” you shrug in fatalism (aka the Christian word for “if it is God’s will”). But if it’s Satan—and Scripture screams it is—then you’ve got a command: Resist the devil, and he will flee (James 4:7). Cast out spirits, heal the sick, reclaim the stolen. Faith isn’t passive therapy; it’s aggressive restitution.

Frankly, if you’re sitting on robbed health or pilfered prosperity, nursing it like a badge of spiritual maturity, you’re not just missing the plot—you’re aiding and abetting the heist. You’re a willing accomplice, handing Satan the getaway car keys while Jesus stands ready with the restitution check. Maxim 16 cuts like a surgeon’s scalpel: Reprobates who resist faith on demand for healing and blessings have sided with demons to trample the blood of Christ. Ouch? Good. Truth should sting when it exposes the lie. God isn’t the miser doling out affliction for your “growth”; He’s the Father who, through the Son, has already swapped curse for blessing, poverty for plenty. Abraham’s seed? That’s you, insider to the Contract, heir to the abundance; inheritor of Jesus who is the resurrection of life “now,” not just pie-in-the-sky later. To accept the robbery without a fight is to declare Jesus’ cross as ineffective, His resurrection a footnote. But no—His life is abundant, total, sevenfold-plus. Satan steals your speech? Jesus restores your shout of praise. He binds your back? You walk tall in dominion. He empties your coffers? You sow in faith and reap barns that burst.

Don’t let the thief define your story. Scripture interprets itself, originalist to the core, and it screams restoration over ruin. Start with the self-authenticating Word: Your faith saved you—from sin, from sickness, from scarcity. Confess it daily, relentlessly: “Satan, you robbed what was mine, but Jesus redeemed it sevenfold. I take it back now, in His name.” Command the mute spirit out, the bent frame straight, the empty hands full. Reality obeys faith, because the resurrected King backs your play. It’s not arrogance; it’s agreement with God, whose love to you, makes you worth the overpayment. And when the loot rolls in—health humming, wealth working, voice vibrating with victory—remember: This glorifies Him, who is the power, the love and the giver; not you. It’s the Father’s joy to lavish on sons who believe.

In this fallen farce of a world, where Satan still pickpockets the unwitting, be the one who turns the tables. Robbed of speech? Speak life. Robbed of strength? Stride bold. Robbed of substance? Scatter seed and watch the harvest mock the thief. Jesus didn’t come to commiserate; He came to compensate, to conquer, to crown the believer with triumph. By faith, you’ll save yourself from Satan’s steal. And in doing so, God boasts of you before the heavens, as the hero He always scripted you to be. No more victims in the kingdom. Only victors, voices restored, vaults replenished. That’s the gospel’s punchline—and it’s hilariously, eternally good.

If You Knew – You would Ask

“If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water” (John 4:10).

This statement, uttered by Jesus to a Samaritan woman burdened by her past, encapsulates the essence of who God is and how humanity is designed to relate to Him. There is no other God but this one—the boundless supplier who gives without end—and no other way to engage Him but through the bold act of asking in faith, with the assurance that He will provide good things. Jesus doesn’t just teach these realities; He presupposes them, building His entire dialogue on their unassailable foundation.

In the narrative of John 4:1-42, where Jesus encounters the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well, we find a profound revelation that cuts through cultural barriers and religious pretensions like a divine scalpel. This isn’t just a story about evangelism; though it does this. At its core, Jesus unveils two foundational truths about God and our relationship with Him, truths He both teaches explicitly and presupposes as the bedrock of reality. First, God is the ultimate wellspring, the rich supplier who pours out blessings upon us; we don’t supply Him, for He lacks nothing and gives everything good. Second, Jesus operates on the assumption that when a human stumbles upon God; the natural, immediate response should be to ask for those good things, with the certainty that God will deliver. These aren’t optional insights; they’re woven into the fabric of who God is and how He relates to us. This is similar to us seeing Jesus healing all those people in the gospels, and He says, “if you have seen Me, You have seen the Father.” This is how God is, and how He relates to us.

Consider the setting: Jesus, weary from travel, sits by the well at noon, a time when the heat drives most indoors. The Samaritan woman arrives, burdened not just by her water pot but by a life of relational wreckage—five husbands and now living with a sixth man who isn’t her husband. Jesus initiates the conversation by asking for a drink, flipping the script on who gives to whom. But here’s where the first point emerges with crystalline clarity. Jesus quickly pivots from physical water to “living water,” a metaphor for the eternal life and refreshment only He can provide. “If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink,” He says in verse 10, “you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.” Notice the emphasis: God is the giver, the supplier. The woman, intrigued but skeptical, points to the well’s depth and Jesus’ lack of a bucket, but He presses on, describing this living water as a spring welling up to eternal life. God isn’t depicted as a needy deity demanding our meager offerings; rather, He’s the inexhaustible source, rich beyond measure, who delights in supplying our deepest needs.

This presupposition about God’s nature aligns seamlessly with the broader biblical witness. God’s self-existence and immutability mean He lacks nothing; the One who creates all things by His Word, without depleting Himself. As Psalm 50:12 declares, “If I were hungry I would not tell you, for the world is mine, and all that is in it.” God doesn’t need our water pots or our rituals; we need Hi. How often do we reverse this; It’s a subtle idolatry, one that creeps into prayers where we “offer” God our service to buy things from God. But God’s goodness isn’t stingy; it’s lavish, as James 1:17 reminds us, every good and perfect gift coming down from the Father of lights, who doesn’t change like shifting shadows.

Building on this, the second point Jesus presupposes is the dynamic of our relationship with God: encounter Him, and the instinctive move is to ask boldly for good things, with the assurance they’ll be granted. The woman doesn’t fully grasp it at first; she’s fixated on literal water, asking in verse 15, “Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water. Jesus assumes that recognizing God, should lead to immediate asking, and that asking in faith yields results.  The presupposition is clear: God is eager to give, and faith receives.

This isn’t some isolated anomaly; it’s the pattern Jesus models throughout His ministry. In the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 7:7-11), He teaches, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” He presupposes a Father who gives good gifts to those who ask, contrasting Him with earthly parents who wouldn’t hand a snake instead of fish. Here at the well, Jesus lives this out, offering living water freely to a Samaritan outsider, no strings attached beyond recognition and request. The woman, despite her messy past, gets it quicker than many theologians today. She asks, and Jesus delivers; not just water, but revelation that sparks a revival in Sychar. Verses 39-42 show many Samaritans believing because of her testimony, culminating in their own confession: “We know that this man really is the Savior of the world.” Jesus presupposes a relationship where humans, frail and thirsty as we are, approach God not in groveling fear but in expectant faith, knowing He’ll supply abundantly.

Jesus assumes that upon recognizing God, the human response should be immediate and audacious—ask, and God will give good things. “If you knew,” He says, implying that true knowledge of God propels one to petition without hesitation. This dynamic presupposes faith as the primordial doctrine for God’s children: encounter Him, acknowledge your need, ask for good things, and receive. Jesus operates on the certainty that God, being good, responds affirmatively to such requests, much as a loving father gives bread for bread, not stones for bread, (Matthew 7:9-11). Jesus’ ministry reinforces this; from the centurion’s faith securing an instant healing to the promise in John 14:13-14 that whatever we ask in His name, He will do it. To relate to God differently, is to fabricate a false god.

There is no other God but this supplier of living water, and no other way to relate but through knowing, asking, and receiving. Faithless doctrines, like those peddled by cessationists or fatalists, God’s supply is rationed, miracles relegated to apostolic footnotes, but Jesus presupposes abundance for all who believe. This is the word of faith confession: affirm God’s promises, ask boldly, and reality bends. The Samaritan woman’s story rebukes our hesitations— she, an outsider with a checkered past, asks and receives, her faith igniting a harvest while the disciples fuss over lunch (verse 35).

In practical terms, this transforms our prayer life and worldview. If God is the rich supplier, we approach His throne of grace without fear, as co-heirs with Christ, demanding the blessings sworn in Abraham’s covenant—healing, prosperity, the Spirit’s power. Faith isn’t groveling; it’s the insider privilege, as angels marvel at our audacity to wrestle blessings like Jacob or command mountains like Jesus teaches. Frankly, if we’re not asking for good things—spiritual depth, physical healing, material provision—we’re relating to a counterfeit god, one who can’t or won’t give. But this God? He’s the only one who exists. Jesus presupposes if you can recognize Him as God, then your response is to open your mouth and ask for the biggest things you can thing of, like the baptism of the Spirit, eternal life and healing.  

Yet, let’s not overlook the subtle rebukes in this passage, for they mirror the defective starting points I critique in my theology. The woman’s initial focus on physical water and religious debates (verse 20) reflects humanity’s tendency toward superstition—seeking God in places or rituals rather than in spirit and truth (verse 24). Jesus presupposes a direct, asking relationship, bypassing such nonsense. The disciples’ astonishment at His conversation with a Samaritan woman exposes insider complacency, presupposing barriers where God sees free access to ask and receive. In our day, this challenges faith-fumblers who dilute prayer to “Thy will be done” as an excuse for unbelief, ignoring Jesus’ presupposition that God’s will is to give good things to those who ask in faith. As necessary as God’s nature is, are prayers on the demand of faith—anything less would make truth, false, or a circle a square.

Do we know this God, the supplier who gives without measure in healing, prosperity, deliverance and an abundance of life? The Samaritan woman’s legacy isn’t her past but her pivot to faith. And this is the greatest type of legacy; the legacy of faith.  Drop the fearful self-reliance, and recognize the Messiah is standing at the well. If you knew who God was, the first thing Jesus presupposes is that you would immediately start asking and God will start giving. There is no other God, and there is no other way to relate to this God. It is the way of faith.

The Faithless: God is non-God

When Scripture declares it’s impossible for God to lie (Hebrews 6:18), it’s not slapping a limitation on Him like some cosmic speed limit; rather, it’s positively affirming that He is truth incarnate, the Logic through whom all reality logically follows (John 1:1). This Logos isn’t some vague ideal—it’s the very Law of Non-Contradiction in divine personhood. The law of non-contradiction is simply naming a constant motion of God’s mind or describing how the premises in God’s system-of-thinking is always arranged in, and then giving a name to that constant motion or ordering. Because this motion is so constant in His own Mind, if we don’t follow that motion, then we stop thinking; we stop ceasing being a mind. Meaning God doesn’t affirm and deny the same thing simultaneously, to do otherwise is to be non-God. Because God is the law of noncontradiction, it means He is not anti-logic. Or to say it another way, because God is God, He is not non-God.

Also, His power isn’t a separate toolbox He dips into when the mood strikes; no, His choices and His omnipotence, are the same thing; they are perfect oneness. What He decrees isn’t a casual suggestion that might fizzle out—it’s as eternally binding and real as His own existence. That’s why in Romans 9:17, Paul personifies Scripture as directly confronting Pharaoh, when it was God who did so; thus scripture is regarded as God Himself. In Galatians 3:8, Scripture “foresaw” and “announced” the gospel to Abraham, when it was God who told those things. Frankly, to treat God’s word as anything less is like trying to separate the heat from the fire—you end up with neither.

Now, tether this to the prayer of faith for healing, and the necessity becomes glaringly obvious, almost comically so if it weren’t so profound. If God’s nature is necessary—meaning He must be truthful, logical, and all-powerful without contradiction—then His fulfillment of faith-filled prayers is equally non-negotiable. James 5:15 doesn’t hedge with “might” or “if it aligns with some mysterious plan”; it boldly states the prayer of faith will heal the sick, period. This flows straight from God’s self-sworn oath to Abraham, expanded in the New Covenant through Christ’s atonement, where Jesus bore our infirmities so we wouldn’t have to (Isaiah 53:4-5). To suggest otherwise—that God could promise healing on demand of faith but then withhold it—would make Him a cosmic bait-and-switch artist, violating His own non-contradictory nature. It would be the same as saying God is also non-God.  It’s the kind of theology that leaves folks limping along in unbelief, blaming “God’s will” when the real culprit is their own hesitation to grab hold of His word. But for those who get it, this necessity isn’t a burden; it’s liberation, turning every prayer into a direct line to the God who isn’t non-God.

Answered prayers aren’t some optional perk in the Christian life, like an extra scoop of ice cream on your sundae. No, they’re woven into the very fabric of who God is—His unchangeable nature, His unbreakable promises, and His absolute sovereignty. If God is truth, if He’s the Logos who spoke creation into being, then His word isn’t just reliable; it’s as necessary as His existence is necessary. Deny that, and you’re not just doubting prayer—you’re tinkering with the nature and existence of God Himself. And trust me, that’s a fool’s errand, like trying to outwit gravity while jumping off a cliff.

Take Luke 13:16, where Jesus heals a woman bent over for 18 years. He doesn’t frame it as a nice gesture or a sign to wow the crowd. Instead, He declares it “necessary” because she’s a daughter of Abraham. Necessary? That’s a strong word. It’s the kind of language you use for gravity pulling you down or the sun rising in the east. Why? Because God swore by Himself to Abraham—a promise of blessings that includes healing, prosperity, and miracles, as Galatians 3 spells out. God doesn’t make casual vows; He stakes His own name on them. Hebrews 6:13-18 drives this home: God swore by Himself since there’s no one greater, and it’s “impossible for God to lie.” His resolve is unchangeable, sealed with an oath. So, when Jesus heals her, it’s not optional—it’s God being faithful to His word, which is as integral to Him as His power, logic, infinity, immutability or eternity.

Now, picture this: God, the ultimate sovereign, predestines everything down to the last atom’s twitch. Yet, in His wisdom, He ties answered prayers to faith, making them a direct outflow of His nature. It’s not that our faith twists God’s arm. He relates to us on our level, so that faith unlocks what He’s already decreed. Jesus says in Mark 11:24, “Whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.” That’s not hyperbole—it’s the blueprint. If God’s nature is truth, then His promises aren’t pie-in-the-sky wishes; they’re ironclad necessities. Deny answered prayers on demand of faith, and you’re saying God is also non-God, or affirming a square is a circle.

This ties into the broader theology of God’s sovereignty, which isn’t some cold, fatalistic machine but a personal, intellectual decree from a God who’s “really, really intelligent.” In Systematic Theology, we see that God’s decrees aren’t arbitrary; they’re the logic of His causality, flowing from His attributes like immutability and love. He hates sickness as much as sin because both stem from the Fall, and He’s sworn to crush them under the New Covenant. Jesus bore our infirmities (Isaiah 53:4-5, as Matthew 8:17 applies it), so healing isn’t a maybe—it’s a must when faith aligns with His promise. Cessationists might squirm here, arguing miracles were just to confirm the message, but that’s like saying the sun only shines to wake you up in the morning. No, miracles are part of Abraham’s blessing, ongoing and necessary because God’s oath doesn’t expire. To say God’s promise has expired is to say God has expired. God say God doesn’t heal on the demand of faith, because that has expired is to say God has expired. As Paul notes in Galatians 3, we’re grafted in, so the Spirit and miracles are our inheritance. To say otherwise is to call God, non-God.

Consider the flip side: unbelief blocks miracles, as Jesus “could not” do many in His hometown (Mark 6:5-6). Not “would not”—could not. Why? Because the way God sovereignly decides to relations to us in on the relative level; and on this level faith is how we relate back to Him. Thus, faith is “how” His power flows to us. It’s not limiting God; it’s honoring how He set up the system. If answered prayers weren’t necessary, Jesus wouldn’t have rebuked the disciples for their lack. In John 14:12-14, He promises believers will do greater works, asking anything in His name. It’s the necessity of God shining through us. Deny it, and you’re left with a gutted gospel—forgiveness without power, like a car without an engine. Amusing in theory, but useless on the road.

Hebrews reinforces this: God wants to show the “unchangeableness of His resolve” through answered prayers, giving us “powerful encouragement” (6:17-18). It’s not about us earning it; it’s about God being God. His nature demands He fulfill what He swore—blessings for the heirs, including healing on faith’s demand. James 5:15 echoes: the prayer of faith will heal the sick. Will, not might. That’s necessity baked in. If God is immutable, then His yes is yes (Matthew 5:37). To waffle on this is to embrace superstition, like those who twist “God’s will” into fatalism: “Pray, but whatever happens will sovereignly happens.”. That’s not sovereignty; that’s Eastern mysticism disguised as a Christian drag queen. God’s sovereignty is the same as His choices and the same as Him being the law of non-contradiction; thus His sovereign decrees are specific—like healing for faith—and delivers, without being contradictive.

In the end, answered prayers are as necessary as God’s nature is necessary. As a daughter or son of Abraham through Christ, claim it. God swore by Himself—He is true, He is the law of non-contradiction. So pray boldly, believe fiercely, and watch reality bend to His word. It’s not magic; it’s reality bowing faith. And if that sounds too good, remember: God’s goodness, is bigger than our doubts and it is bigger than reality.

The Logic of Necessity: God’s Oaths and Our Faith

Diving deeper, let’s unpack the logic. God’s promise to Abraham isn’t a vague nod; it’s a deductive powerhouse. Premise: God swears by Himself to bless Abraham’s seed (Genesis 22:16-18). Premise: We’re that seed through faith in Christ (Galatians 3:29). Conclusion: Blessings, including miracles and the Spirit, are ours. Hebrews 6 seals it: two unchangeable things—His promise and oath—make it impossible for God to deceive. Impossible. That’s the law of non-contradiction at work: God can’t be true and false simultaneously.

So, when Jesus says it’s “necessary” to heal Abraham’s daughter, He’s applying this logic. Satan’s bondage? Unacceptable under the oath. Faith releases it because God’s nature necessitates fulfillment. The faithless try to dodge—”that was then. Paul’s Galatians argument hammers it: miracles aren’t apostolic perks; they’re Abrahamic promises, post-cross. To sideline them is to sideline God’s integrity, immutability, eternality, infinity, sovereignty and logic.

Frankly, too many theologians play word games, diluting “necessary” to “maybe if God’s in the mood.” But Scripture’s frank: God’s mood is His word. He wants us healed, prosperous, empowered—more than we do. Remember the bible’s maximum, “All things are possible for people with faith.” Why? Because God’s nature makes it so. Deny answered prayers, and you’re denying the God who swore them into being.

Practical Punch: Living the Necessity

How do we live this? Start with confession: affirm God’s oaths as your reality. Psalm 103:2-3—He forgives all sins, heals all diseases. Not some; all. Pray with that necessity in mind. If doubt creeps, cry like the father in Mark 9: “Help my unbelief!” Jesus honored that—necessity met honesty with miracle.

In ethics, this means obedience: faith isn’t optional; it’s commanded. Resist Satan (James 4:7), heal the sick (Matthew 10:8). It’s not showboating; it’s aligning with God’s unchangeable resolve.

Ultimately, answered prayers glorify God, by affirming God is God.  They’re necessary because He is. The faithless unanswered prayer doctrine affirm God is non-God.

Faith Eradicates Patience By Eradicating Troubles

George Swinnock’s quote: “To lengthen my patience is the best way to shorten my troubles.”

It’s got that Puritan ring to it—stoic, enduring, almost masochistic in its embrace of suffering. On the surface, it sounds pious, like something you’d stitch on a sampler and hang in a Reformed study.

The Scripture’s focus on everyday troubles (not gospel persecution, mind you) isn’t to stretch your patience like taffy until the storm passes—it’s to obliterate the trouble altogether through faith, rendering patience obsolete where applicable. Patience for patience’s sake? That’s not virtue; that’s veiled unbelief, a defective ethic masquerading as holiness.

You might need patience if your faith is weak, and you need time to renew your mind to the point where you are regularly getting the miracles you are asking for. Sometimes the miracle happens the moment you ask, but like the tree Jesus cursed, it might take a little time before you see the full results. Sometimes you need to keep knocking, and thus some patience is needed.

First, let’s ground this in epistemology and metaphysics, because if we’re not starting from God’s revelation as our sole and only first principle, we’re just peddling human speculation. The Bible doesn’t begin with ethics (what we “ought” to do in trials); it starts with God’s sovereignty over reality (Genesis 1:1, Psalm 24:1-2). God owns the earth, the seas, the troubles—and He decrees how we interact with them. God’s absolute control isn’t fatalism; it’s determinism by an intelligent, promise-keeping Mind. He predestines us not just for bare rescue but for fruit-bearing, miracle-receiving life (John 15:16). Predestination includes getting whatever we ask in faith, and baptism of power. So, when troubles hit—sickness, lack, oppression—the question isn’t “How long can I endure?” but “How does God’s Word commend me to deal with it?” It commands me to destroy troubles, and by destroying the trouble I destroy the need for patience.

Look at James 1:2-4: “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” Patience (perseverance) here isn’t the goal; it’s a tool toward maturity. But maturity in what? James doesn’t leave us hanging. Skip to chapter 5: “Is anyone among you sick? Let them call the elders of the church to pray over them and anoint them with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well” (James 5:14-15). See? The Bible’s ethic for everyday woes like illness isn’t endless patience—it’s faith-fueled eradication. Pray in faith, and the trouble vanishes. No need for patience when the mountain’s hurled into the sea (Mark 11:23).

Swinnock’s quote implies troubles are inevitable tutors we must outlast. But that’s defective metaphysics. Troubles aren’t God’s schoolmasters for the elect; Satan ministers sickness and curses (Luke 13:16, Acts 10:38), while God ministers healing and blessings through Christ’s atonement (Isaiah 53:4-5, Galatians 3:13-14). Jesus didn’t tell the bent-over woman, “Lengthen your patience to shorten your bondage.” He said Satan bound her, and as a daughter of Abraham, she must be set free; now! (Luke 13:16). Faith demands the promise; it doesn’t settle for mere endurance. Claiming God’s will for you is sickness, identifies you as His enemy, like the Philistines cursed with tumors (1 Samuel 5). No, insider status in Christ means we resist the devil and he flees (James 4:7)—troubles shorten by eviction, not endurance. The faithless don’t have God’s power to help them and so all they have is human power. All they can do is endure with patience.

This patience fetish is a hallmark of cessationist nonsense, those faith-fumblers who twist Scripture to excuse unbelief. They say, “Suffer patiently; it’s God’s refining fire.” But Jesus, the most God-centered man ever, said, “Your faith has healed you” (Mark 5:34). Jesus didn’t say, “Your patience will shorten it eventually.”

Blaming God’s promises for human failure is like doubting 2+2 because your teacher erred. God wants healing more than you do; He commands faith to grab it (Matthew 21:21). Patience? It’s applicable when waiting for “name it and claim it” to manifest. Like the centurion upgrading his miracle by faith in Jesus’ authority (Matthew 8:8-10).

If God promises healing on faith’s demand (premise), and you believe (premise), then healing follows necessarily (conclusion). Induction—observing unhealed folks and concluding “patience shortens troubles by grit and endurance”—is anti-logic, a non-sequitur.

 The centurion applied sovereignty not to endure but to command reality’s obedience. Peter applied election to Spirit baptism and miracles (Acts 2:38-39). Jesus applied predestination to answered prayers (John 15:7-8). James? Faith heals, period. Swinnock’s ethic inverts this: lengthen patience to shorten troubles. But biblical ethic: Shorten troubles by faith, and patience becomes irrelevant. It’s not good to be patient just to be patient—that’s masochism, not maturity. God doesn’t supply patience to prolong suffering; He supplies faith to end it. Because He loves us with covenant favor, He will always honor faith, with a fish for a fish, and a supernatural healing for a supernatural healing. Are you stranded in a dead alley? Dial God’s hotline by faith, and He will pick you up.

Don’t get me wrong: Persecution for the gospel? Endure patiently (Matthew 5:10-12). But everyday troubles—sickness, poverty, oppression? The Bible’s laser-focused on removal. Abraham’s blessing includes miracles and prosperity (Galatians 3:14); Psalm 91 promises safety from nightly terrors. Why patient endurance when faith commands mountains? Reality obeys you by faith. Swinnock’s way glorifies suffering; God’s way glorifies faith’s victory (John 15:8). Yes, you heard that right. God’s way glorifies the one with faith. The gospel was predestined for your glory. This glory happens when you ask and get the miracle you ask for. This glorifies you, and by this, it glorifies God.

In conclusion, Swinnock’s quote peddles a defective ethic, prioritizing human endurance over divine decree. The Bible’s maxim? “Believe, and you’ll receive” (Mark 11:24)—troubles shorten by annihilation. Patience is a bridge, not the destination; cross it with faith, and the need evaporates. God predestined us for this triumphant life, not stoic drudgery. If you’re in trouble, don’t lengthen patience, lengthen your faith.

Grief as Doubt: A Fraudulent Theology of Unbelief

August 30, 2025

The post in question, titled “WHY IS GOD SILENT IN MY GRIEF?” spins a tale of a man’s tragic loss—his pregnant wife killed in a hit-and-run—and uses it as a springboard to normalize doubt, questioning, and feelings of abandonment as natural, even biblical, responses to grief. It cites David’s lament in Psalm 10:1, Job’s weeping, and even Jesus’ cry on the cross to suggest that grief “makes you question. It makes you doubt God’s love. It makes you feel abandoned.” Then it pivots to consolations like Psalm 34:18 and Hebrews 13:5, attributing the pain to Satan’s schemes while urging the reader to “let God in” and “hold His hand” through the “valley of sorrow.” This is presented as compassionate Christian teaching, but it’s a manipulative scam, rooted in emotionalism and unbelief. It’s autobiographical projection: just because grief shattered this writer’s faith doesn’t mean it shatters mine—or yours—and it certainly doesn’t mean the Bible endorses such weakness as inevitable or virtuous.

This theology is fraudulent because it elevates human experience over God’s revelation, turning grief into a license for unbelief. The post assumes that because one man “ran mad instantly” and his “mind broke,” this is the universal believer’s fate in loss. But that’s not Scripture; that’s superstition. Maxim 1: God is the foundation for theology, not man. If we start with man’s broken emotions as the norm, we end up with a defective worldview that glorifies doubt as a spiritual badge. The Bible doesn’t normalize grief-induced questioning as acceptable; it condemns it as sin. Faith, not feelings, is the command. Jesus didn’t say, “Grief makes you doubt—embrace it.” He said, “Have faith in God” (Mark 11:22). Jesus told Jairus to “not Fear,” but “only believe.” After telling the disciples about His death, Jesus said, “do you let your hearts be trouble,” and to “cheer up.” Doubt isn’t a phase; it’s disobedience.

Look at the Scriptures twisted here. David cries in Psalm 10:1, “Why, Lord, do you stand far off?” But the post ignores the resolution: David’s psalms end in triumph, affirming God’s deliverance (Psalm 10:16-18).  David wasn’t modeling perpetual doubt; he was venting in a pre-resurrection era, before the full light of Christ’s victory. We live under the New Covenant, where the Spirit empowers us to claim joy and restoration now. To wallow in David’s momentary cry is to reject the gospel’s greater revelation. However, David said God delivers him from all his troubles, heals all his sickness, and prospers him. David was not a model of perpetual grief; his psalms often resolve in praise and confidence in God’s deliverance.

Job weeps in ashes after losing everything (Job 1:20-22), but the book isn’t a grief manual—it’s a revelation of God’s sovereignty being used to bless Job with double wealth and double health, in this life, not just the next. Job repents of his foolish questions (Job 42:1-6) and receives double back, not because he endured scars piously, but because he acknowledged God in truthfulness. The post’s “scars that no man can see” sentiment is humanistic drivel; Scripture promises healing for the brokenhearted, not eternal emotional wounds. The bibles says we have a sound mind full of peace and joy by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Even Jesus’ cry, “My God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Matthew 27:46), is abused to justify doubt. This wasn’t abandonment or questioning God’s love—it was fulfillment of Psalm 22, declaring the Messiah’s sin-bearing agony. Jesus bore our forsakenness so we wouldn’t have to. Think about that. Jesus bore our anguish, so we do not bear it in our minds. To equate our grief-doubts with Christ’s redemptive suffering is blasphemous, reducing the atonement to therapy for feelings. The post says, “Grief makes you doubt God’s love”—but that’s not biblical; that’s projection. Maxim 18: Jesus is the most God-centered man who ever lived. He marveled at faith, not doubt or good behavior. If grief “makes” you doubt, it’s because your faith was defective to begin with, rooted in emotions, not God’s Word.

This manipulation is autobiographical because the writer assumes his breakdown is everyone’s. “Many believers never remain the same after the passing of their loved ones.” Speak for yourself. I’ve lost my identical twin brother Joshua, as I dedicated my Systematic Theology to him. Did grief make me question God’s love? No. It drove me deeper into faith, affirming God’s sovereignty and promises. Maxim 2: God is absolutely and directly sovereign over all things, including knowledge, man, and salvation. God ordained the loss in the ultimate sense, but He relates to me on the relative level. He relates to me based on His finished atonement, established Contract and freely given promises to bless me, and give me abundant life (John 10:10). Satan steals and destroys. Satan is bad. God is good. The solution is not to feel abandoned but to exercise authority over Satan through faith. To feel “abandoned” is to ignore Hebrews 13:5, not because God is silent, but because you’ve plugged your ears with unbelief. God isn’t silent; He’s spoken in Scripture, the self-authenticating starting point. If you perceive silence, it means you are carnal and not spiritual: You are relating to God based on carnality or by sight and not by faith and the Spirit.  

The consolations are half-truths laced with sentimentality. Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” This promises salvation from brokenness, not companionship in it. This verse promises salvation from crushed spirits, not perpetual companionship in them. God does not weep with you in some empathetic solidarity; He commands you to rejoice in His deliverance. God doesn’t “weep with you” in empathetic weakness—He takes the suffering away and replaces it with blessings. God’s power and love cannot be divided like a man. God’s love and power means He makes the bad things go away. The idea of God as a hand-holding therapist through the “valley of sorrow” reduces Him to a humanistic crutch, as mere human ability. All things are possible for God. But all things are possible for people with faith. Faith claims victory: “I will not die but live, and will proclaim what the Lord has done” (Psalm 118:17).

Revelation 21:4’s tear-wiping is eschatological, but faith tastes it now—no more mourning through the atonement. “There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain”—refers to the eschatological consummation, but through faith, we taste this victory now. God is not waiting to walk you through pain; He has already provided the way out through faith in His Word.

Satan uses grief to break you? True, but the solution isn’t shutting God out—it’s unbelief that does that. The post urges, “Let God in. Don’t shut Him out.” But if you’re doubting, you’ve already shut Him out by rejecting His Word. Maxim 16: Reprobates who resist faith on demand for healing and blessings have sided with demons to trample the blood of Christ. This theology conspires against the gospel, glorifying emotional scars over faith’s triumph. It glorifies man as stronger than God, stronger than the Word, and stronger than the Spirit.

Reject this fraud. Grief doesn’t “make” you doubt unless you let it. Maxim 17: Faith will always move mountains, real ones. By faith, reality obeys you. By faith, you save yourself from grief’s madness. Confess God’s promises: comfort, restoration, joy. My brother’s death didn’t break me; it fueled my theology, pouring faith into pages so no one leaves before their time. Don’t normalize doubt—it’s unbelief. Stand on Scripture: God is sovereign, faith conquers. You being victorious over grief glorifies God, not your “scars.”

Maxim 14: Reprobates focus on men. Christians focus on God. Focus on Christ: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5). Claim it by faith. No valley is too deep for mountain-moving belief. Faith is not an emotional state but a firm intellectual assent to God’s promises, confessed boldly regardless of circumstances.

The post ends with a link to “Christian Legacy Teachings,” but if this is their legacy, it is one of defeat, not the triumphant inheritance of the saints.

In a nutshell: Grief ain’t your faith’s kryptonite unless you hand over the cape. The post’s pity party is just emotional bait—don’t bite. God’s Word says faith flips the script on sorrow, turning tears into triumphs. Doubt? That’s unbelief’s autograph. Grab your faith hammer and smash those “scars”—because in God’s kingdom, victory’s the only scar that sticks.

Identified with the Resurrected Christ, Not the Earthly Jesus

Posted: August 25, 2025 

I want to hammer home a truth from 2 Corinthians 5:16-17 on how we see ourselves in Christ. Paul writes: “So we have stopped evaluating others from a human point of view. At one time we thought of Christ merely from a human point of view. How differently we know him now! This means that anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!” (NLT).

The big idea: Our new creation in Christ isn’t modeled after the Jesus who walked the dusty roads of Galilee, healing the sick and casting out demons as a man under the law. This would be an amazing thing, but the point Paul is making is greater. No, that’s the “human point of view” Paul warns against—the old way of thinking that limits God and shackles your faith. Our identity is fused with the resurrected Christ, the exalted King seated at the right hand of Power. We’re not mimicking the pre-cross Jesus; we’re embodying the post-resurrection Lord. This isn’t some fluffy spiritual metaphor—it’s the explosive reality that unleashes miracles, crushes mountains, and makes “all things possible” a daily command, not a distant dream. And hey, if faith can move mountains, imagine what it does to your Monday morning coffee slump?

Let’s break this down biblically, because human speculation is just satanic superstition dressed up in theological jargon. Paul says we once viewed Christ “from a human point of view.” Think about it: During His earthly ministry, Jesus operated as a man—fully God, yes, but voluntarily limited, born under the law (Galatians 4:4), baptized in the Spirit for power (Luke 3:22, 4:1), and doing the Father’s works through that anointing (John 14:10). He was the forerunner, showing us how a Spirit-empowered human crushes the devil’s works. But that was the old covenant shadow. Post-resurrection? Jesus ascends, pours out the same Spirit on us (Acts 2:33), and now sits enthroned, far above all rule and authority (Ephesians 1:20-21). That’s the Christ we know now—the victorious, glorified One whose name we wield like a divine sledgehammer. Swing it wisely, folks; for Paul tells us, with great power should come great love.

Your new creation isn’t a refurbished version of your old self; it’s a total reboot, a supernatural species upgrade. “The old life is gone; a new life has begun!” Paul shouts. And this new life isn’t tethered to the earthly Jesus—it’s identified with the heavenly One. Colossians 3:1-3 nails it: “Since you have been raised to new life with Christ, set your sights on the realities of heaven, where Christ sits in the place of honor at God’s right hand. Think about the things of heaven, not the things of earth. For you died to this life, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God.” Raised with Him? Seated with Him? That’s not poetry; that’s positional truth. God sees you already enthroned above every principality, every sickness, every mountain-sized obstacle. Ephesians 2:6 doubles down: “For he raised us from the dead along with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ Jesus.”

Reprobate theologians—those faith-fumblers who peddle unbelief—love to drag us back to a “human point of view.” They say, “Well, that was Jesus; we’re just sinners saved by grace, limping along until heaven.” That’s defective metaphysics, limiting the Holy One of Israel. If we’re seated with the resurrected Christ, our identity is His identity. We are not identified in irrational ways like eternality, infinity, and immutability, because by definition we cannot. However, we’re co-heirs (Romans 8:17), joint-partakers in His divine nature (2 Peter 1:4), and authorized to use His name as if we were Him. Jesus didn’t say, “Ask in My name, but only for small stuff because you’re not Me.” No! In John 14:12-14, He promises: “Anyone who believes in me will do the same works I have done, and even greater works… You can ask for anything in my name, and I will do it.” Why? Because using Jesus’ name by faith isn’t cosplay—it’s identification so profound that your request is as if Jesus Himself spoke it. The sovereign God has decided that when you ask for something in Jesus’ Name, it is as if Jesus asked Him directly. God always hears and gives the Son what He asks for, and God has decided to do the same for us when we ask; He did this because God decided to make Jesus’ identity our identity. God decided to do this because He is sovereign and because He wanted to do it, and because He loves you.

The power is ultimately God’s and not that we have inherent power in ourselves, or in our words. However, with that being said, our identification is so substantially and relationally integrated in God’s sovereign thoughts about us that when we command something in faith, it happens. My body does not have inherent power to move, except by the power of God, even when I am typing this essay. However, God has made my body and thoughts so identified together in a relational sense that I consider my body as my own and I naturally move my fingers to type as I want. This is the same reality we now have in our identity with the resurrected Jesus. The power, authority, rich inheritance, and name of Jesus are so integrated with me in the relational sense that when I pray, stuff happens, and mountains move at the sound of my voice. Talk about a voice-activated universe—Siri’s got nothing on this!

God did all this to give us unshakable confidence to ask and receive, by showing us how intellectually, relationally, and ontologically we are identified with Jesus. However, all this is overlooking what Jesus said in John 16 by saying, in that day, I will not even ask on our behalf, because the Father loves you. As if you don’t even need a mediator, because God loves you so much—or better said, the Father loves you so much that He has already made mediation happen and be so complete that you can ask Him directly. As natural as it is for Jesus to be in His own throne room and walk around is the same degree it is for me to walk boldly in God’s throne room and walk around, because I have been so deeply identified with Jesus. This is how the sovereign God thinks about me. And only His thoughts and choices matter.

Maxim 12 from my book rings true here: “God’s gospel is a total salvation. God saves. His chosen ones are clean, righteous, co-heirs with Christ and have the Mind of Christ. They will judge the world and angels; they inherit the world. All things are theirs.” All things! That’s not hyperbole; that’s gospel fact. When you pray in Jesus’ name, commanding a mountain to move (Mark 11:23), it’s the resurrected Christ—seated above all—backing you up. Your faith confession isn’t a beggar’s plea; it’s a king’s decree. Why? Because you’re so united with Him that God hears your voice as His. “By faith” isn’t a caveat—it’s the ignition key. Faith assents to God’s definition of reality: You’re not the old you; you’re the new creation, exalted with Christ.

But here’s where the rubber meets the road—and where defective ethics creeps in. If you evaluate yourself from a “human point of view,” you’ll limit God. You’ll say, “Healing? Miracles? That’s only for Jesus’ earthly ministry, not me.” Wrong! That mindset dishonors the resurrection. Jesus’ ascension and enthronement amplify our authority, not diminish it. In His earthly ministry, He was one man in one place; now, through His body—the church—He’s multiplying miracles worldwide. As great as it would be, to be identified with Jesus’, under the law, in His earthly miracle ministry, it is still a limitation, because what we have is greater.  This is why Jesus promised we would do Greater works! If you doubt that, you’re siding with the faithless, those who trample the blood of Christ by rejecting the full scope of our new creation.

Remember the Israelites? They limited God by unbelief (Psalm 78:41), confessing giants instead of confessing confidence in God’s promise. We’re worse if we do that now—post-resurrection, post-Pentecost. Colossians 3 urges us to “set your minds on things above,” because that’s where our life is hidden. Faith to move mountains? It’s yours because you’re seated above them. Command demons? Absolutely, for you’re far above all powers. Ask for the desires of your heart? Yes, because the Father loves you as He loves Jesus (John 17:23), and your requests in His name glorify the exalted Christ and Himself.

In my book, I dedicate a chunk to ethics: “You Are the Promises of God.” That’s you—new creation, promise-embodied. Don’t evaluate Christ or yourself from a human viewpoint anymore. Know Him as the resurrected King, and know yourself as seated with Him. Faith unleashes God. Faith unleashes your identity in Jesus. Faith unleashes this: Speak to the storm, the sickness, the lack—in Jesus’ name—and watch reality bow. It’s not arrogance; it’s obedience to our new identity; it’s agreeing with God’s definition about this reality He created.

Your Words Always Carry Authority

Sometimes the faith preachers can go too far in their teaching on words, confession, and giving Satan authority through your words of unbelief. Most of the mistakes boil down to one of two things. First is their demonic doctrine of Arminianism. Their denial of the Bible’s sovereignty leads them to say God gave up some of His power and authority and handed it to man, and then man passed it to Satan, and so on. The second is a borderline superstition about words. Jesus said, “Lazarus is dead” (John 11:14). This did not cancel His ability to raise him from the dead, because Jesus said it along with the statement, “we will go and wake him up” (John 11:11). Jesus did not say he was dead in unbelief, fearful that Lazarus could not be raised from the dead, but as a statement made on the human level of observation. Jesus said what could be observed, but contradicted empiricism by faith: “We will go and wake him up.”

With that being said, there is some truth to what is being said, and we need to address it. Proverbs 18:21 declares that life and death are in the power of the tongue. The most obvious way to see this is in salvation. If you believe and confess with your tongue, you will be saved (Romans 10:9-10). However, sometimes the confession of the tongue can be as simple as tears. For Jesus said to the woman who washed His feet with her tears, and to whom He said all her sins are forgiven, “Your faith has saved you” (Luke 7:50). Jesus, the most God-centered man who ever lived, did not say, “God saved you”; no, He said, “Your faith has saved you.” Thus, we see it is more than just words, but words backed up by faith.

Moses said, “I present before you life and death; choose your path” (Deuteronomy 30:19). And the way we choose is by unbelief or faith. If unbelief, then words of unbelief will follow. If faith, then words of faith in God will follow. This is why Jesus said to the woman, regarding the forgiveness of her sins, “Your faith has saved you,” rather than saying “God saved you.” Faith-filled words or unbelief-filled words determine the course of your life. Your position in life is finalized by your confession.

Talk about a divine mic drop—your tongue’s basically a cosmic remote control; hit ‘faith’ for blessings, or ‘unbelief’ for the eternal buffering screen.

God Is Sovereign and Still Is

Because God has not given up any of His direct and absolute control over all things, He therefore still does all that He wants. He defines His own creation and establishes connections and cause and effects. He was sovereign when He made the promises, and so He is sovereign and faithful to do them, no matter how incredible they are.

Thus, when God made the earth, God gave dominion of the earth to man, commanding man to steward it (Genesis 1:28). God did not stop being the only real cause of all things, but on the relative level, because God is in control of all things, it was His choice to put the earth under man’s authority and stewardship. Adam did not ask for this authority and dominion. It is because God is sovereign that Adam had this responsibility and authority even though Adam did not ask for it.

Because the earth was given to man, when Adam sinned, much authority and power was transferred over to Satan, by God’s choice and design. Even though Adam did not ask for the stewardship and responsibility of managing the earth, it was his because God sovereignly made it so. Thus, even if Adam did not want the responsibility for his choices and words of unbelief to result in earthly authority being transferred to Satan, he had no choice in the matter because this dynamic was established by God. The devil said to Jesus, “I will give you all their authority and splendor; it has been given to me, and I can give it to anyone I want to” (Luke 4:6). Jesus did not refute Satan. After Jesus’ resurrection, He said to the disciples, “All authority has been given to Me” (Matthew 28:18). Jesus took it back, and all those united to Him not only have the original authority and stewardship given to Adam, but much, much, much greater; it is as great as the authority Jesus has. Jesus has made us royal priests in Him forever (1 Peter 2:9, Revelation 1:6). We are not just sub-heirs, but co-heirs with Jesus (Romans 8:17). We are united to Jesus’ body; therefore, because all things, including all powers, authority, rulers, and dominions are under Jesus’ feet, they are under our feet (Ephesians 1:22-23). Jesus has given us the privilege and authority to use His Name to ask for whatever we want and get it (John 14:13-14, & ch 15, and 16). He has endowed us with the power of the Holy Spirit; the same Spirit that empowered Him (Acts 1:8).

As a believer, I did not ask to be made a royal priest in Jesus. And yet, this position of authority and power is mine, whether I want it or not. By my words, as a royal priest, I can command sickness to leave and rebuke Satan to his face. I do not go in and out of being a royal priest who can use Jesus’ name. I always have this position, whether I want it or not. Thus, my words always carry royal priesthood weight and authority because in God’s mind, He thinks I am a royal priest in Jesus. For example, if a king mutters to himself, “I want some water,” even if he did not intend for a servant to go get him water, a servant will get him water, because the word of the king is law. This is exactly what the Canaanite woman did with Jesus’ word (Matthew 15:21-28). Jesus’ word put her as a dog in the house, under the table. Thus, the woman demanded some crumbs, because it was Jesus’ word that put her there, even if Jesus did not intend for her to get healing. Even though the woman hijacked Jesus’ word, on the other hand, she honored His word as that of a King, whose word is law. Jesus was in a position of authority, and the woman was demanding that Jesus honor His word.

 Sovereign God hands out authority like candy at a parade—Adam fumbled it to Satan, Jesus snatched it back, and now we’re co-kings; just don’t trip over your own tongue, or you’ll end up cursing yourself.

This is what we mean by our words having life and death. It is not that we have inherent power in our words, but God in His sovereign choice has put us into positions of authority and power, whether we want it or not. It was this way from the beginning with Adam. Adam lost much of this authority, but God began to give it back starting with Abraham, and in Jesus much more has been given to the believer. It does not matter if you acknowledge your position of authority and power, because God in His mind thinks you are in a position of authority and power, therefore, God will see to it personally that the words you speak will bring death or life to you. It is because God is sovereign and we are accountable to Him that words bring life and death. It is because God is sovereign that I have the power to command sickness to leave, to shut the mouths of demons, and tell mountains to fly away (Mark 11:23).

This results in a double-edged sword. On the one hand, you can curse yourself with death, pain, sickness, shame, and demons, or you can bless yourself with life, peace, prosperity, the Holy Spirit, health, and glory. Even if you shut your mouth, just your tears are enough for God to use His sovereignty to ensure they either damn or bless you.

There is only one word in the Bible for demon possession, and it means to be demonized, and it includes anything from being slightly harassed to outright possession. Because Adam sinned in a position of authority, this led God to give man’s authority over to the devil, and this allowed Satan to demonize mankind. For example, in Acts 10:38, Peter says Jesus healed all those being victimized by the devil. Thus, much sicknesses are caused by demons, and so sickness is largely caused by being demonized. If you are sick, then it is likely due to being demonized, although sometimes it can be just God’s curse at the fall (Genesis 3:16-19).

This is why words are so important. If the doctor says you have stage 4 cancer, and in unbelief and fear you repeat this, because God thinks you are in a position of authority, you have just authorized death and pain for you. You have given permission for demons to demonize you. If you say, “getting old means I get arthritis and feeble and fall,” then it will be true for you. You have chosen death. You have chosen unbelief and curses. God thinks you are a steward in authority over the earth, He thinks you are royalty, He thinks you are a priest, and so your words of unbelief have authorized your flesh to be sick, weak, and in pain.

Once you realize you are always in a position of authority and power, then the intelligent thing to do is use your words to confess the goodness of God over yourself, and use the Name of Jesus to get good things from God.

This is why Christianity started with Abraham, whose very name is a confession of faith in God: “I am the father of many nations” (Genesis 17:5). Christianity started with faith-filled words in God’s good promises of health, wealth, fame, and blessings. Both the Old and New Testaments say this: “We believed and so we have spoken” (2 Corinthians 4:13; Psalm 116:10). This is Christianity 101.

Satan knows this and so he has demonized the faithless into confessing death, and by confessing unbelief they are doing Satan’s job for him. They will say, “We are the worst of sinners,” and so they are (1 Timothy 1:15, but misused here). God thinks they are in a position of authority (even if it is only a mere shadow of the stewardship Adam once had), and so they authorize their souls and actions to be sinful and unrighteous. They say things like, “This sickness is sent by God to teach me something.” The ten spies of the Israel came back from spying on the Land and gave a truthful report about their observations saying, “we are small, and the people are giants, we can’t do this.” It was correct; however, God was angry because God’s promise contradicted their observations. They chose their observation over God’s promise. God made their words to be a self-fulling decree. Thus, God in His sovereignty makes unbelief a self-fulfilling prophecy of sickness, because God considers our words have weight

 Think about it. The faithless and traditionist mock the faith preachers for decreeing and prophesying. Yet, just like the 10 spies, they decree they are sick and are too weak to defeat stage 4 cancer, because that is what the doctor confessed. They prophesy about how old age makes them feeble and how arthritis bends their hands; they decree this because they already observe how their bodies hurt. They decree that they are small, but confess that sickness and old age are giants. They prophesy that sufferings from everyday troubles of life will eat away at their life, libido and happiness. And just like the Israelites who confessed their own smallness, defeat and sufferings, God made their decrees reality, and made their prophecies manifest. They speak against the faith teachers for decreeing, but their mouths pour out an onslaught of decrees and prophecies, but in the negative. And we see it come to pass. They see their confessions manifest, not because they have inherent power in words, but because the sovereign God thinks their decrees have authority and power. Their lives are a living testimony of the power of decrees and the reality of prophecy. Their doctrine is against decreeing, but their lives are a constant endorsement of it.

It does not matter if you do not want your self-deprecating statements, or observations about how your body feels, to be self-fulling prophecies, God in His sovereignty ensures your words authorizes them to be so. This is how God is using His sovereignty, so deal with it. Deal with it by speaking faith filled words in God’s blessings.    

Satan’s sneaky script flip—get the faithless yapping negativity, and poof, they’re self-sabotaging superstars; meanwhile, God’s like, “I glued the mic to your hand, it will amplify your words, so think carefully what you will say!”

There is a reason Jesus preached so much. Faith comes by hearing the word of truth (Romans 10:17). By hearing the truth, our hearts are filled with faith. When our hearts are filled with faith, we open our mouths and confess His blessings over our lives. In the Gospels, Jesus kept saying things like, “Ask what you want using my Name and get it” (John 16:23-24). And then, “What you SAY, if you believe, then you will get it.” And if you “SAY to this mountain it will move” (Mark 11:23).

Notice how many times Jesus says, “SAY.”

Mark 11:23-24: “Truly I tell you, if anyone SAYS to this mountain, ‘Go, throw yourself into the sea,’ and does not doubt in their heart but believes that what they SAY will happen, it will be done for them. Therefore I tell you, whatever you [SAY] for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.”

Lastly, we are instructed to always be praying, praying in tongues, rejoicing, and praising God (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18; Ephesians 6:18; 1 Corinthians 14:2). God knows that He sees us in authority and so commands us to continually be saying faith-filled words about His goodness, salvation, and blessings over us. Our faith, our words, and confessions need to catch up to our identity in Christ, to our high position of already sitting in the heavenly places in Christ (Ephesians 2:6), and to our position as always being a royal priest. Our words have power and authority because God is sovereign, and because He loves us. Jesus enjoys seeing the people He died for use His Name to say and command good things for themselves.

Just as speaking sickness opens a foothold for you to be demonized (Ephesians 4:27), speaking in tongues is a foothold for the powers of God to flood into your life.

Your words are like spiritual WiFi passwords: Mutter curses and invite demonic hackers; confess faith and unlock God’s unlimited data plan of miracles.

I Will Never Send Anyone (Sickness) To Attack You

“If indeed one attacks, it is not from me; whoever attacks you shall fall because of you.

Look! I myself have created the craftsman who blows the fire of coals, and who produces a weapon for his work; also I myself have created the destroyer to destroy.

 [No] weapon formed against you shall succeed, and you shall [condemn] every tongue that rises against you for judgment. This is the inheritance of the servants of Yahweh, and their legal right from me.” (Isaiah 54:15-17 LEB)

I noticed two essays on my website being viewed more, which are “The Devil Is Making You Sick, Not God,” and “Sickness Is Satan’s Glory, Not God’s. They all have a similar theme: God did not send you sickness. It is not from Him. It was sent from Satan. God sends healings. The scales of faithless teachings are falling away from the eyes of believers.

This passage is a one-stop-shop of a few major themes in one place. I will focus on a few things to meditate on.

The first theme is God saying He did not send bad people to fight against Israel. CSB: “If anyone attacks you, it is not from me.” ERV: “I will never send anyone to attack you.”

How can anyone be more God-centered than God? How can anyone be more concerned for God’s name and glory than God? Obviously, no one can, including you, and definitely including faithless trash that peddles cessationism or any denial of expansionism. Is it not anti-God-centered to say God did not send something? Is God not directly and absolutely sovereign over all things? Well, yes, God is. In fact, the next section of the passage directly addresses this. God says He creates nations and the people in them and creates them for war, for His own purpose. If a blacksmith makes a weapon, it is because God made it happen with more directness than the blacksmith making the sword. God does not find a nation and then use them. No. God forms them from scratch. This is like the neutral lump of clay in Romans 9. God starts with a neutral lump and forms it into the shapes He wants.

So yes, God is directly sovereign over all things in absolute and direct control. However, the same passage says, “If someone attacks you, I didn’t send them, I didn’t do it.” The reason for this is simple. The Bible affirms God’s control over all things, but it mainly talks at the human level, or relative level. That is, relative to how humans perceive things and relative to how one created object interacts with another created object. On this relative level, God is correct when He denies sending people to attack Israel. There is no mystery here because we are talking about two different categories: one ultimate and the other relative. Mystery comes because people create category errors by mixing the two. Mixing ultimate and relative levels? That’s like confusing quantum physics with your grandma’s cookie recipe—both sweet, but one will blow your mind, the other your diet.

God does not send evil to Israel. If evil does come to them, God did not send it. This was true under the Old Covenant, but today we have a better Covenant. Thus, how much more does God not send evil to saints, who are redeemed by the blood of Jesus and part of Abraham’s blessing? This blessing says God is our God and we His children, and that He never stops from doing good to us. Jesus defined a good father as one who gives a fish for a fish—or that is, who gives you what you ask for and not something different. In the New Contract, Jesus is our High Priest who ministers to us the things He accomplished through His atonement. Jesus not only forgave all our sins, but by His stripes we were healed. Jesus became our poverty so we become rich by His wealth. Jesus took on our curse and gave us the blessing of Abraham, which included fame, health, wealth, and supernatural increase to all our lives.

God is in a Contract with us, and therefore, relative to our interactions with God, and God’s interaction with us, He does not send sin to us—otherwise, Jesus would be a minister of sin. Jesus does not send poverty to us—otherwise, Jesus would be High Priest of poverty. Jesus does not minister sickness to us—otherwise, His ministry would be a ministry of sickness, pain, and death. There is a being who does minister such things, and that is Satan. He has a ministry of death, sickness, poverty, and pain. He comes to steal, kill, and destroy. But Jesus comes to give life and even abundant life.

However, our passage in Isaiah is more basic, for it is not directly talking about the ministry of Jesus. It is more about God’s nature. In Isaiah, God mentions for us to remember we were carved from the rock of Abraham. God is a friend to Abraham and is good to all his descendants. God is kind and compassionate. This is God’s nature. Thus, God does not send evil to His children. He gives them good things; He gives them a fish for a fish. If there is poverty, sickness, and troubles, God did not send it. They came from someone else, but not God.

Notice the implication. When God says He did not send the evil, you cannot blame God for it. If you have cancer, or if your loved one died before their time, or you are poor, you cannot blame God for this, because God did not send it. He denies that He did it. God rejects any involvement in your sicknesses and troubles. They are from Satan, the curse or they are self-inflicted. However, even if they are self-inflicted, Satan is the one who is actively working on you to self-inflict yourself with death and destruction. Thus, the devil is the one sending you the troubles.

You are a douchebag piece of trash if you blame God for your sickness, because He did not send it. Whom am I to believe? God denies it, but you affirm it? You have no right to attribute to God what He denies.

Beyond the blame game, there is the issue that you are calling God Satan. Confusing God with Satan? That’s like mistaking Superman for Lex Luthor—same cape, wrong agenda. Epic fail. Seriously, you cannot tell the difference between God and the devil, and you want to school people in theology?

There is another implication drawn directly from the passage: “No weapon forged against you will prevail, and you will refute every tongue that accuses you. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord” (NIV).

The argument God gives is simple. On the relative level, God did not send the trouble; therefore, when trouble comes to you, tell it to f@#k off. Jesus gives us a clear picture of this in His faith doctrine. What does it mean to refute every tongue that accuses you? Jesus commands us to “speak” to our mountains and tell them to get out of our way. Jesus also says that we can use His Name to ask for whatever we want and get it to increase our joy and give the Father glory. Peter therefore said, “What I have, I give, In Jesus Name, Walk.” Thus, because the trouble did not come from Jesus, when troubles—or that is, when mountains—come, condemn it, refute it, and tell it to cast itself in the sea.

A doctor will condemn you with sickness. But God did not send the sickness. ERV: “I will never send anyone to attack you.” Or that is, God will never send sickness to attack you. The devil is making you sick. Therefore, when the doctor’s tongue accuses you with stage 4 cancer, refute it by the Name of Jesus Christ. Because God did not send you sickness, you have the freedom to send it away. Your inheritance through Jesus Christ includes the authority to use His name to command sickness to leave. This birthright belongs to all who are made righteous by Jesus’ atonement. This is God’s vindication to all who belong to Him.

The point to notice is basic: you, not God, are speaking to troubles. “You will refute every tongue that accuses you.” You have the inheritance to rebuke troubles sent to you, and so you must be the one who refutes it, not God. In essence, God is saying, “I did not send evil to you; therefore, I will not be the one to send it away. I have given you the vindication and authority to refute it and send it away. You open your mouth, and you command it.”

God’s handing you the mic—time to drop some holy bars on that mountain. “Yo, cancer, hit the road… in Jesus’ name!”