Tag Archives: lack

A king and his son on a castle balcony overlooking a valley

You Have Not, Because You Ask Not

If you have them, you can’t be tempted to get them.

James drops it plain in chapter 4: “You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. You do not have, because you do not ask.” The context is not some ethereal spiritual hunger for more invisible holiness or a better prayer life. He’s talking about people who want stuff—good sex and marriage, a solid house, property, money, success, relationships that actually work. They want the good material things that make life livable, and because they don’t have them, their lack of self-control sends them into murder, adultery, envy, and coveting, whether they do it with their hands or just in the secret chambers of their hearts. That’s the setup. The problem is lack, and the lack is driving the sin.

Self-control is good. It is a fruit of the Spirit, and we reach for it hard because God said it is. We want the Spirit’s fruit, not a limp version of it. But the same God who lists self-control right there in Galatians is the same God who looks at the man murdering in his heart over a wife he does not have and says, “Ask Me for the wife. I’ll hand her over. Then the temptation dies because you already have her.” One is Spirit fruit. The other is God removing the lack that makes the fruit fight an uphill battle every single day. The monastic crowd wants you fasting in a stone box until desire flatlines like a dead car battery. God wants you with a full fridge, a solid marriage, and a bank account that doesn’t make your neighbor’s house look like a target.

What’s wild is that James doesn’t pivot to the usual religious script. He doesn’t say, “Stop wanting the bigger house. Stop wanting good sex in marriage. Stop wanting more success. Get more self-control and lock yourself in a cold monastery tower until the desire dies.” No. He says ask. Get those material things from God, and the temptation evaporates because you actually have them now. You can’t be tempted to steal a car when the keys are already in your pocket and the title is in your name. You can’t be tempted to murder your neighbor for his wife when God has already given you a good marriage that satisfies. The logic is brutal and simple: if you have them, you can’t be tempted to get them through unlawful means. That’s the argument. God is not calling you to become a monk who freezes in some stone tower while muttering about contentment. He’s saying, “I know you need those things. I know you want those things. Ask, and I’ll give them to you.”

God’s only real warnings are the ones He actually wrote down. Directly in the James passage, don’t ask for sinful things that break a commandment—murder, adultery, the actual violation. And then the basic excess: ask for all the good foods you want, just don’t be a glutton. Asking for steak isn’t the sin. Being the guy who eats the whole buffet then hides in the bathroom like a raccoon in a dumpster—that’s the excess. Same thing with money. The only rule is don’t love it as your true god and provider. Look to God to provide it. Job had it. David had it. Solomon had more gold than a dragon’s hoard, and God never once wrote “loved money too much” on his problem list. Turns out you can swim in abundance without drowning in idolatry. Who am I to add more rules than God already gave? Ask for the good things. Just don’t turn them into the commandment-breaking version or the glutton version.

This is the opposite of how the faithless and the religious operate. They treat material desire as the enemy and self-control as the only weapon, so they end up producing a generation of people who are constantly fighting their own legitimate wants instead of receiving the supply that kills the fight. God’s response is to remove the lack. Nathan told David the same thing after the adultery with Bathsheba. God had already given him his master’s house, his master’s wives, the kingdom of Israel and Judah—multiple wives, which meant multiple sex, multiple good relationships, multiple children, military victories, fame, and success in everything. Then God said, “And if this were too little, I would add to you as much more.” If David had wanted more wives, more kingdom, more gold, more everything, God would have given it. After having the more, the temptation would have been gone because he would have had it. That’s how God thinks. The faithless reverse it and act like wanting more is the sin, when the real sin was taking it by murder and adultery instead of asking the One who already proved He was willing to hand it over.

Jesus seals it in the Sermon on the Mount. “Your Father knows you need these things. Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you.” The “these things” are exactly what the pagans seek after—wealth, health, food, clothing, material prosperity at the level that makes unbelievers chase them like gods. Jesus doesn’t say those desires are wrong. He says seek the kingdom and the things the pagans are running after will be added to you. The point is not that you stop wanting them. The point is that God is so concerned about them that He guarantees they will be supplied when you put Him first. It’s not based on some bare-minimum need calculation. It’s based on your wants, and He wants to give them to you so you are not sitting around being tempted by the absence.

The atonement already purchased this package. Jesus became poor so that through His poverty you might become rich—not spiritual poetry, but the same substitution that took your sickness and your sin also took your material lack. The blessing of Abraham, which was mainly material favor, land, increase, and success, has come on the Gentiles through faith. You are predestined to ask and receive. So ask. Ask for the good sex and marriage you want. Ask for the house, the land, the money, the success. Ask bigger than the monastery version of Christianity ever allowed you to imagine. When you have them, the temptation is gone. That’s how God designed it. That’s how His love works. Stop treating lack like a spiritual badge and start treating the promises like the finished reality they already are. You have not, because you ask not. Ask, and watch the temptation die because the thing you wanted is now in your hands.

The God Who Gives and Takes Away

Yeah, you know that song—“Blessed Be Your Name”—with its catchy chorus belting out, “You give and take away.” Oh boy, did the worship leaders love repeating that bridge, turning it into some kind of mantra that echoed through the auditorium like a divine echo chamber. Back in my younger days, before I really grasped the full blast of Jesus’ finished work on the cross, that line used to hit me like a gut punch from an invisible stalker lurking in the shadows of my faith. I’d sing it in church, lifting my hands with the crowd, but inside, it stirred up this nagging dread that twisted my guts: When’s God gonna yank away my health, my cash flow, or that close relationship I’d been nurturing? It painted Him as a cosmic night stalker, ready to rip away the good stuff on a whim, leaving me destitute and praising myself for how much more I can suffer from God than my neighbor. Felt more like a horror flick plot than the promise of an “exceedingly great reward” that God dropped on Abraham in Genesis 15:1. I remember feeling a bit envious of Abraham back then; it seemed like he got the jackpot Genie God who multiplied blessings without the fine print, while we were left with the chainsaw massacre version who giveth and taketh at random.

The Bible is a worldview, and the finished work of Jesus forces a very specific way to see reality: Blessed be the Name of God. He takes away my curses, pains, sickness, poverty, and lack. Blessed be the Name of God, who gives me health, relationships, prosperity, fame, and favors of all sorts. Blessed be the Name of God, who took away my bad, and gave me good.  

Job 1:21 says, “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I shall return. The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.” Job’s venting in the midst of his nightmare, a raw outpouring from a man who’s just lost everything—his kids, his wealth, his health—in a whirlwind of calamity that would break most folks. And in that moment, he’s clinging to a sliver of piety, acknowledging God’s sovereignty even as the ashes settle, but also thinking himself more righteous than he truly was. Job accepted God’s rebuked and God gave him the mercy and compassion of double wealth and health. But here’s the thing: Job’s reality was one where he had no direct covenant contract with God like we do under the New Contract. He’s operating in a pre-cross world, where the full revelation of God’s redemptive plan hadn’t yet unfolded. Zoom out to the New Contract, sealed in Jesus’ blood, and everything shifts dramatically. Through Jesus’ brutal substitution on that cross—where He bore our sins, our infirmities, our poverty—God doesn’t play this give-and-take game with His kids’ blessings. No, He takes away the junk we deserved, the curses that clung to us like bad karma from the fall, and lavishes us with the overflow of His goodness.

The whole point of substitution is that we don’t have the things Jesus took on Himself. Jesus endures the loss so we don’t have to, swapping our rags for His riches in a divine exchange. In God’s mind, and His mind is the only mind matters, He thinks Jesus took on Himself our sins, ours sickness, our curses and our poverty; because of this the Father does not think we have sins, sickness, curses or poverty. Think about it. Hour after horrific hour, Jesus stood in our place under the wrath of God, and nailed to our curses. This has already happened. Jesus endured lash, after lash, after lash as an exchange to give me healing. Who am I to disagree with God. Why would I want to? The Father has decided in His mind that we carry Jesus righteousness, health produced by His stripes, and Abraham’s blessing of excessive increase and wealth. Jesus already did it. God already considers all these bad things removed from us, and already reckons all the good things are ours. If we disbelieve God, like Jesus’ hometown and fail to receive, that is our accountability, and not God who already provided. Again, that is the whole point of substitution. It has already happened and been completed.  

If God’s sovereignty means He decrees all things without contradiction—as Hebrews 6:18 insists it’s impossible for Him to contradict Himself—and if His New Contract promises health, prosperity, and victory through faith, and the blessings of Deuteronomy 28 now redirected to us via Galatians 3:14, then He’s not in the business of snatching back what He lavished on us in Christ. Galatians 3:13 spells it out plainly: “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, ‘Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree.’” See? Jesus became the curse so we wouldn’t have to lug it around like a ball and chain. Jesus lugged it around like a ball and chain to the cross and it died there with Him. I don’t have it, because He took it away from me.  Isaiah 53:4-5 hammers it home: “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed.” That’s not human observational; it’s propositional truth, applied from God’s unchanging mind to our everyday reality. Matthew 8:17 confirms this interpretation, applying it directly to Jesus’ healing ministry: “This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah: ‘He took our illnesses and bore our diseases.’”

In the New Covenant, God’s giving is all about abundance—health as in 3 John 1:2, where John prays, “Beloved, I pray that all may go well with you and that you may be in good health, as it goes well with your soul”; prosperity echoing Abraham’s promise in Genesis 12:2, “And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.” Thus even relationships are rooted in Abraham’s gospel of increase of favor, love and meaningfulness, not arbitrary loss and loneliness. It’s all yes and amen in Christ, as 2 Corinthians 1:20 declares: “For all the promises of God find their Yes in him. That is why it is through him that we utter our Amen to God for his glory.” If we’re singing “He gives and takes away” while ignoring this Contract shift, we’re mixing up a person with outsider status with insider’s status, creating a theological Frankenstein. To mix outsider identity with insider identity is peddling a demon dogmatic that leaves people in perpetual defeat. To think your identity is a dog when you are human would have devastating results. The same with our identity in Christ. To think you are merely human or still the old man, or still a sinner, or still sick or still under a curse, or still an outsider to the Contract when you are not, would have devastating results.

Sickness, for instance, isn’t God’s autograph on our lives—it’s Satan’s victory lap, a middle finger to the kingdom that Jesus demolished at the cross. In Acts 10:38, Peter describes Jesus’ ministry: “how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power. He went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him.” Notice: oppressed by the devil, not by God. Doing good was healing and doing bad was sickness. Peter says it was the devil doing the bag thing, which was taking away health. But it was Jesus doing the good thing, which was giving health. In the New Contract, God takes away the oppression—the sickness, the lack, the relational fractures—and gives us wholeness. In the substitutionary atonement, Jesus took 39 stripes in exchange for our healing. It is already done. In the Father’s mind, He decided our sicknesses were taken off us and put on Jesus as those 39 stripes. There is nothing more for God to do in order to heal us. He already did in Jesus substitutionary atonement.  If we attribute taking away blessings to God, we’re aligning with the accuser, not the Advocate. Satan will teach you to let him do bad things to you like sickness, lack and death, and then tell you to label these bad things as from God. But Acts 10:38 says Jesus does the good thing which is healing.

God is sovereign over all things, including evil, and so He must by logical necessity even be the author of sin. Yet, on the relational level where we live and breathe, God speaks to us as Contract partners, promising to take away curses and give blessings without reversal. In Deuteronomy 28:1-14, the blessings for obedience include health, wealth, and fruitful relationships, and under the New Contract, these are ours through Christ’s perfect obedience, not our flawed efforts. We don’t earn them; we receive them by faith, as Romans 4:16 explains: “That is why it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his offspring.”

So, if your theology still has God as the cosmic repo man, stripping away the very favors He promised in the New Contract, you’re not just off-base—you’re peddling demon dogmatics that’ll stain your hands on judgment day. Before its too late, stop cheering for the wrong team in this cosmic cage match. Instead, bless the Lord who takes our curses—our pains, our lacks, our brokenness—and pours out His riches in glory by Christ Jesus (Philippians 4:19). Blessed be His name, the Giver who takes away our trash and upgrades our inheritance to match His Son’s.

This isn’t pie-in-the-sky optimism; it’s deductive certainty from Scripture’s premises. Start with God’s immutable character (Malachi 3:6: “For I the LORD do not change”), add the New Contract irrevocable promises (Hebrews 8:6: “But as it is, Christ has obtained a ministry that is as much more excellent than the old as the covenant he mediates is better, since it is enacted on better promises”), and conclude that what He gives in Christ—life abundant (John 10:10)—He doesn’t retract things from your life. The whole point of substitutionary atonement is that Jesus went to great lengths to retract and take away all your sins, sickness, curses and lack. God did take away and retract things from your life, but it was all your bad, which Jesus took on Himself and bore it in your place. Satan may try to pilfer, but God’s response is to restore double, as in Zechariah 9:12: “Return to your stronghold, O prisoners of hope; today I declare that I will restore to you double.”

In practical terms, this means when trials hit—whether financial squeezes, health scares, or relational rifts—we don’t resign ourselves to “God’s taking away” but resist the devil, firm in faith (James 4:7), claiming the blessings already secured. If God were in the taking business for Contract insiders, He would take away our unbelief, not our blessings; He would zap it right out so we could receive freely. In fact, this is what the boy’s father prayer, “help my unbelief.”  The finished atonement of Jesus, and our new identity in Him forces a particular worldview; it invites us to approach the throne boldly (Hebrews 4:16), asking, knowing we will receive, because our Father promised and delights in giving good gifts.

The God who gives and takes away, has revealed what this means for insiders in Christ; God takes away bad things and gives good things. Blessed be His name, indeed—not for painful subtractions, but for lavish additions that make us more than conquerors (Romans 8:37). If you’ve been singing that song with a side of dread, thinking God takes away the health, wealth, good relationships, righteousness and the very blessings He gave you in Christ, then you have been singing with demons and glorifying the devil. Some Christians are so confused they are singing “Highway to Hell,” thinking it’s a gospel song about God’s insiders. Swap camps and come over God’s choir singing: He gives life, and takes death; gives health, and takes sickness; gives abundance, and takes poverty.

That’s the gospel rhythm—dance to it.