Tag Archives: crown

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