Years ago, when I first dove into Vincent Cheung’s commentary on Colossians, it hit me like thunderclap. There I was, flipping through chapter 2, and Vincent further explains what Paul calls “shadows” or “shadow religion”—those rituals, holidays, and sensory crutches that masquerade as piety but throw a veil over the direct, unfiltered access to God that Jesus secured for us. It’s not just ancient Jewish festivals Paul was warning against; Vincent applies it straight to our modern mess, like Christmas trees and Easter bunnies, turning what should be a vibrant, Spirit-drenched faith into a dim echo of the real thing. The church today needs this message hammered home, because we’re no better than those early believers clinging to calendar days, thinking they add something extra when Jesus already delivered the full package. His atonement is finished, His ascension locked in that ongoing ministry of blessings at the Father’s right hand—no bells, no smells, no seasonal vibes required to tap into it. We’ve got it all, right now, if we’d just believe.

In his Commentary on Colossians (2008), Vincent Cheung unpacks Colossians 2:16-17: “These are a shadow of the things that were to come; the reality, however, is found in Christ.” He drives home how Paul is dismantling the Colossian heresy that promised deeper spirituality but delivered nothing but chains. Vincent writes, “The regulations mentioned—’Do not handle! Do not taste! Do not touch!’—refer to things that are all destined to perish with use, because they are based on human commands and teachings. Such regulations indeed have an appearance of wisdom, with their self-imposed worship, their false humility and their harsh treatment of the body, but they lack any value in restraining sensual indulgence” (Colossians 2:21-23). Then he ties it to contemporary traps: “Christian traditions like Christmas or Lent often function the same way, imposing man-made observances that veil the direct reality of Christ. They suggest we need these shadows to approach God, when the substance is already ours in Him.” It’s a reminder that anything sensory—sights, sounds, smells—we lean on to “feel closer” to God is just a step back into the old covenant’s dim previews, when we’ve got the high-definition fulfillment in Jesus.

Paul isn’t mincing words—these observances were pointers, not the point. The reality is Christ, full stop. No more veils, no more middleman rituals. Satan loves these shadows because they distract from the direct line Jesus opened. The church today is starved for this truth—we’re drowning in sensory religion while the Spirit’s river flows untapped, and the word is not believed.

 In a world where barriers seem to define so much of our existence—whether it’s the red tape of bureaucracy, the emotional walls we build in relationships, or even the digital firewalls that guard our online lives—it’s liberating to consider what the Bible teaches about our access to God. This isn’t some distant, occasional privilege reserved for the spiritual elite, like a VIP pass to a concert that only works on special occasions. No, through Jesus Christ, we have direct and constant access to the Father, a reality that reshapes everything from our answered prayers to our eternal confidence. As I reflect on this, I can’t help but think how the faithless complicate what God has made straightforward.

The New Testament paints a vivid picture of this access, rooted in the finished work of Christ. Consider Ephesians 2:18, where Paul declares, “For through him we both have access to the Father by one Spirit.” Here, the apostle is addressing the radical shift brought by Jesus’ death and resurrection, tearing down the dividing wall between Jews and Gentiles, but more broadly, between humanity and God. Before Christ, access was mediated through priests, sacrifices, and the temple veil—a system of shadows that pointed forward but never fully delivered the intimacy we now enjoy. That veil, symbolizing separation due to sin, was literally torn in two at the moment of Jesus’ crucifixion (Matthew 27:51), signaling that the way into the Holy of Holies is now open to all who believe. It’s not a seasonal thing, like waiting for the right festival or the perfect alignment of stars; it’s constant, available at any hour, in any circumstance. Hebrews 4:16 urges us to “approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.” Boldly! Not with timidity or hesitation, as if we’re crashing a party uninvited. This is the throne room of the universe’s Sovereign, and we’re welcomed as sons and daughters, not strangers.

We can approach those ancient throne room doors to God Himself. We can push against them and swing those massive doors wide open. As we look, the middle of the throne room is empty. But off to the sides are angels and other heavenly hosts. They do not stand in the middle, before God, because they don’t have that type of access. But we do. All eyes watch us as we march down the center aisle, with our heads held high. We march in with boldness, as if we are God’s sons, who are co-heirs—not just mere sub-heirs—with Jesus Christ. We walk in with our heads held high, as if we are the very body of Jesus Christ, because we are. We were not first given a specific reason to come in at that moment. But we can anyway, unannounced. We stand before the throne, looking at God face to face, and boldly make our requests known to God. And God gives us what we ask for. God does this because when He sees us, He sees His Son. He thinks we are part of His Son, and God’s thoughts are the only thoughts that matter on the subject. God is correct, and I agree with God. I am part of Jesus and get prayers answered while boldly walking in and asking without hedging. Who am I to disagree with the Power?

To grasp the depth of this, we look back to the Old Testament contrasts that highlight the new covenant’s superiority. In Exodus 19, when God descended on Mount Sinai, the people trembled at a distance, warned not to touch the mountain lest they die. Even Moses, that great mediator, approached with fear and awe. Yet, in the New Testament, we’re invited to draw near without such dread, because Jesus has become our great High Priest who “ever lives to intercede” for us (Hebrews 7:25). This intercession isn’t a barrier; it’s the guarantee of our direct line to the Father. Romans 5:2 echoes this: “through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand.” Notice the present tense—we stand in it now, not sporadically or conditionally. Faith is the key that unlocks this, and as Vincent Cheung aptly notes in his commentary on faith’s role, it provides “unhindered, direct access to God,” serving as proof of our election. We don’t manufacture this access through rituals or good deeds; it’s gifted through Christ’s atonement, where He bore our sins and opened the path once for all.

 In Ephesians 2, it says we’re sitting with Jesus in the heavenly places. Not that we will be one day, but we already are. If you don’t see yourself that way, it’s because you do not believe God’s word and think He is a liar. Repent and start to agree with your Creator. Think about it. At this very moment, when the Father thinks of you, He thinks you are right now seated with Jesus, who sits at His right hand. He never thinks less of you than in that position with Jesus. If you are not experiencing the benefits of being seated with Jesus right now, that’s your fault and unbelief. God thinks you are, and so you are.

Too many Christians treat this access like an old phone line they only pick up in emergencies, crackling with static from doubt or tradition. They pile on layers of “helps,” like special days or sensory aids, thinking it draws them closer, when in reality, it veils the directness Jesus secured. Days like Christmas or Easter, while culturally ingrained, aren’t biblical doctrines, and so they can subtly shift our focus from revelation and the Spirit to a fleshly starting point. The early church faced similar temptations with Jewish festivals, as Paul warns in Colossians 2:16-17: “Therefore do not let anyone judge you by what you eat or drink, or with regard to a religious festival, a New Moon celebration or a Sabbath day. These are a shadow of the things that were to come; the reality, however, is found in Christ.” Shadows! They’re not the substance. The reason a person wants a shadow and not the real thing is because they do not believe the real exists, or worse, they don’t like it. Our access isn’t enhanced by smells of incense or sounds of carols; it’s sustained by the Holy Spirit, who cries out “Abba, Father” within us (Romans 8:15). This reluctance to embrace constant access often stems from unbelief, masquerading as humility. We think, “Who am I to march boldly into God’s presence?” But the Bible flips that: “How dare you not boldly approach, when Christ has paid such a high price?”

Delving deeper into Scripture, Ephesians 3:12 reinforces this boldness: “In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence.” Freedom—that’s the Greek word parrhesia, implying open, unreserved speech, like chatting with a close friend rather than petitioning a distant king. This isn’t license for irreverence, but it shatters any notion of intermittent access. Jesus Himself modeled this in His prayers, addressing the Father intimately, and He invites us to do the same in John 16:26-27: “In that day you will ask in my name. I am not saying that I will ask the Father on your behalf. No, the Father himself loves you because you have loved me and have believed that I came from God.” See that? No middleman needed beyond Christ’s ongoing mediation, which empowers our direct petitions. This ties into our identity as co-heirs with Christ (Romans 8:17), where all things are ours, including this unfettered communion. It’s about asking for wants and getting them, but it also includes all sorts of benefits, such as constant and direct fellowship, where we abide in Him as branches in the vine (John 15:4-5), drawing life, miracles, prosperity, and every sort of favor, moment by moment.

Hebrews 10:19-22 urges, “Therefore, brothers and sisters, since we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way opened for us through the curtain, that is, his body… let us draw near to God with a sincere heart and with the full assurance that faith brings.” The “new and living way” isn’t static; it’s dynamic, sustained by faith that actively receives. Unbelief can hinder this, much like the Israelites who limited God by their grumbling (Psalm 78:41). They had manna from heaven, yet craved Egypt’s leeks—a foolish trade. Similarly, if we doubt our access, we forfeit the peace, power, and provision flowing from God’s throne.

“Beloved, now we are children of God… we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. And everyone who has this hope in Him purifies himself, just as He is pure,” (1 John 3:2-3 NKJV). “Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth. For you died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is our life…,” (Colossians 3:2-3 NKJV). We draw strength not from self-effort, but from this constant access, where our seated position in Christ refines us by walking in that position when we ask, receive, and praise God. As we see ourselves better as already seated with Jesus, seeing His rich life pouring into us, the more we purify ourselves. The better we see how awesome we are in Christ and walk in that bold access, the more we have power to walk in purity and holiness. People often try to do the opposite of John’s instruction. The order is to first believe who you are, and the proof that you are believing your identity in Christ is if you can boldly ask and receive miracles, and then by doing this you will purify yourself in holiness.

Imagine waking up, not with a list of rituals to “get right with God,” but with the immediate awareness that the throne room doors are swung wide. You pray for healing, and James 5:15 assures, “The prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up.” You seek wisdom, and James 1:5 promises generous provision without reproach. Even in trials, like Peter’s denial followed by restoration (John 21), access remains, because our standing is in Christ’s righteousness, not our performance. The callings and gifts of God are irrevocable. God sees you as already righteous without any sinful markings on your record. And what God thinks is the only thinking that matters. This is irrevocable. Your righteousness record is forever. God thinks you are a royal priesthood, now, not later. God thinks you are seated with His Son in the heavenly places. This is irrevocable. It was based on Jesus’ finished work and given freely to you in grace. It has nothing to do with your performance.

Direct and constant access to God isn’t a theological footnote; it’s the heartbeat of the gospel. It mocks the idea that we need additives to spice up our spirituality, reminding us that Christ is sufficient. As we stand in this grace, let’s live it out with the frank boldness it deserves—no more hiding behind shadows when the Light Himself beckons us near. If we’re not experiencing this daily, perhaps it’s time to examine our faith, repent of unbelief, and step into the throne room. After all, the Father isn’t stingy; He’s extravagantly welcoming, eager for our company. In the words of 1 John 5:14-15, “This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. And if we know that he hears us—whatever we ask—we know that we have what we asked of him.” That’s not wishful thinking; that’s gospel power, yours for the taking. Because God sees us as part of His Son, and thinks the blessing of Abraham already applies to us, “what we want” is the threshold that qualifies as “asking according to His will.” The only time what we want is not God’s will is if it violates a specific command or a word of direction the Spirit spoke to us. Thus, we can always ask in confidence knowing, “what we want” is what we get.

 Faith isn’t waiting around for special days or moods; it’s grabbing hold of the promises now, because Jesus is already interceding with all the good stuff He pledged. Think about it: if the early church got tangled in Jewish Sabbaths thinking it helped their standing, aren’t we doing the same with Christmas carols and advent wreaths? It’s like showing up to a feast with your own sack lunch—you miss the bounty because you’re stuck on shadows. And let’s be frank, if your faith needs twinkly lights to sparkle, maybe it’s time to check if the power’s even plugged in. Imagine trading divine Wi-Fi for a holiday dial-up connection—talk about a spiritual lag!

Shadow religion veils the intellectual, spiritual core of Christianity. It’s empiricism in pious drag, basing faith on feelings and festivities rather than revelation. But Jesus’ high priestly role means constant access—no calendar needed. If we’re born from above, we’re insiders in the Father’s house, with rooms prepared. If your Christmas ham tastes better than the bread of life, you’ve got your feasts mixed up. That’s like preferring MRE meal to a gourmet banquet from the King.

Let’s ditch the veils and live in the full benefits that Christ already won for us—bold, direct access, and miracle-ready. To drive it home, consider the ethical fallout: shadow religion dishonors Christ’s sufficiency. As sons, we’re co-heirs with eternal rooms prepared (John 14:2-3), yet holidays suggest that calendars somehow help us sit closer to Jesus in the heavenly places. However, miracles aren’t holiday perks; they’re gospel proofs. If you tie them to Christmas, you’re unbelieving the very good news that sets us free. If you think miracles happen more around Christmas than from a daily prayer spoken in faith, then maybe check who’s really guiding your sled—your flesh or faith? Santa’s list might be naughty or nice, but God’s access is always “yes” in Christ—no reindeer required.

This delusion of seasonal surges stems from defective anthropology, viewing man as sense-bound rather than Spirit-led and word-based. The gospel tells us we are redeemed, righteous, headed to glory, designed for miracles now. Calendars chain us to the old man; faith unleashes the new creation (2 Corinthians 5:17). Feeling closer via festivities? That’s flesh talking, empirical highs mimicking intimacy. Do you feel distant? That is the chill of a religious shadow, exposing your drift from reality. The cure? Deductive faith in Scripture: Jesus’ finished atonement and our current reality seated with Him means miracles come through faith, not calendar dates.