“Listen to me, you descendants of Jacob, all the remnant of the people of Israel, you whom I have upheld since your birth, and have carried since you were born. Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will…
A servant girl looks at Peter carefully and asks a simple question: “Aren’t you also one of this man’s disciples?”
Peter responds with three words that echo painfully till this day: “I am not.”
On Good Friday, we stand in the high priest’s courtyard with Peter—close enough to see what’s happening to Jesus inside, but far enough away to avoid being noticed. And we recognize ourselves in those three words of denial.
Because if we’re honest, we know those moments when silence feels safer than witness. When distance feels easier than discipleship. When faith becomes inconvenient and standing with Christ might cost us something.
The question still comes to us today—in many forms, every day:
“Aren’t you one of his disciples?”
And the way we answer matters
There is a kind of rejoicing that waits—waits for the diagnosis to change, for the contract to close, for proof that God has acted. And then there is another kind. It speaks before outcomes are certain. It rises before the harvest. It sings before the chains fall. This is the rejoicing of faith. Habakkuk 3:17–19 teaches us that defiant rejoicing is not the reward of stability. It is the confession of faith when stability collapses.
For decades, Luke 6:38 has been weaponized as a prosperity promise: give money, get money back—multiplied. But when you read the verse in context, something remarkable happens. Jesus isn’t building a financial formula; he’s painting a picture of radical relational generosity that reaches far beyond the offering plate. The imagery IS about material abundance—grain overflowing, tangible measurement. But here’s the thing: Jesus regularly uses material metaphors to describe spiritual realities. The prosperity reading isn’t ridiculous. It’s just incomplete. It mistakes the illustration for the subject.
I’ve been following the Chinyere Udoma controversy with interest. Here are my thoughts as both a pastor/theologian and an Igbo person who cares deeply about cultural authenticity in Nigerian Christianity.
Worry is the attempt to carry tomorrow with today’s strength. When it lingers, faith can feel fragile. We believe in God’s promises, we pray, we read Scripture—yet anxiety often remains, quietly pressing on the heart when answers delay and the future feels uncertain.
The question is not whether we will feel anxiety, but where we will take it. This reflection explores why worry persists even in the life of faith and how the Bible invites us to cast, to pray, to seek—because God cares.
You’re still believing. Still praying. But nothing has changed. The question you never wanted to ask presses in: What if God fails you? This is faith’s hardest moment. Many lose faith not because God failed them, but because the version of faith they were given couldn’t survive suffering. Here’s what Scripture actually teaches.
When prayer feels powerless and words won’t come, we wonder if our doubt has disqualified us. But Scripture reveals a surprising truth: God welcomes prayers shaped by weakness. This reflection explores prayer, doubt, faith, and the courage to stay with God even when certainty fades.
When faith feels distant and prayers go unanswered, the question shouldn’t be whether God is silent. It should be whether we have learned to hear His voice in new ways, beause God may be speaking in a whisper. Discover why God allows seasons of spiritual dryness and how His grace is sufficient.
When circumstances drag on and answers don’t come, prayer can feel powerless. But sometimes the most honest prayer is admitting we don’t know how to pray.
