Dependence

 

The truest position for a Christian is not strength, independence, or self-sufficiency; it is dependence. Not partial dependence, not spiritual language masking practical autonomy, but a real and lived reliance on God. Yet everything in this world teaches the opposite. From a young age, we are trained to stand on our own feet, to build, to secure, and to provide. Even within the church, this thinking has quietly taken root. Wealth is often presented as a blessing, success as a favour, and stability as righteousness. But Scripture does not support this. Christ makes the line unmistakably clear:

“No one can serve two masters… You cannot serve God and mammon” (Matthew 6:24).

There is no middle ground. Dependence on God and trust in worldly security cannot coexist. One will always displace the other.

When Christ first sent out His apostles, He did something that makes no sense in a self-sufficient world:

“Take nothing for your journey, neither staffs nor bag nor bread nor money; and do not have two tunics apiece” (Luke 9:3).

This was not symbolic; it was intentional. Why would Christ command them to go without provisions? Because provision was the point. If they carried their own security, they would trust in it. If they lacked, they would be forced into dependence, not as a weakness but as alignment with God’s design. Dependence is not a fallback position; it is the starting point. What we carry often replaces who we trust.

The idea that material prosperity reflects spiritual standing collapses under even the most basic reading of Scripture. Christ Himself had no earthly wealth. The apostles suffered, lacked, and were persecuted. Paul writes plainly that even in his ministry, he experienced hunger, thirst, poor clothing, beatings, and homelessness (1 Corinthians 4:11). If wealth were the measure of favour, then the very foundation of the church would stand condemned. It doesn’t, because the measure was never wealth; it was faith.

And here is where the message becomes uncomfortable, not in theory, but in practice. If I am honest, I am far more comfortable when I can see a bank balance that will carry me through another month. There is a quiet sense of control in that, a feeling that things are in hand. But that comfort reveals something. It shows how quickly trust shifts from God’s provision to visible security. Not because provision is wrong, but because the heart attaches itself to what it can see. That is exactly where the tension lies. My life is not about what satisfies me, but what is pleasing to God.

Not only are believers told that suffering will come, but we are also told how to respond to it:

“My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials” (James 1:2).

“Rejoice to the extent that you partake of Christ’s sufferings” (1 Peter 4:13).

This is not poetic language; it is instruction. Suffering strips away the illusion of control, exposes where our trust truly lies, and in that exposure creates space for something deeper than comfort, namely dependence. A faith that has never been tested is often just agreement, not trust. Comfort builds illusions, suffering reveals truth.

We speak of faith often, but rarely define it clearly:

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1).

Faith is not a vague feeling; it is something solid. It makes what God has promised real to you now, even before you see it. It is an inward certainty that does not rely on visible proof. A bank balance gives visible assurance, something you can point to and trust. Faith removes that and replaces it with reliance on God’s word instead. If you only feel secure when you can see provision, that is not faith; that is sight. Faith is resting in God’s provision when there is no visible evidence of it.

This is where things become blurred. We work, we earn, we save, we plan. None of these is wrong in itself, but they can quietly replace dependence with control. As long as life follows our expectations, this illusion holds. But what happens when it doesn’t? When provision fails, when health breaks, when circumstances collapse, what remains? Scripture answers without apology:

“All flesh died that moved on the earth… all in whose nostrils was the breath of the spirit of life… died” (Genesis 7:21–22).

In the days of Noah, wealth, status, and effort meant nothing outside the ark. The rich and the poor met the same end. Only those who depended on God’s provision, who entered the ark by faith, were saved. When control fails, faith is all that remains.

The question is not whether we function in the world; we must. The question is where our trust actually lies. Is it in our ability to provide, or in God’s provision? Is it in what we can control, or in who He is? When everything is stripped away, and Scripture makes it clear that this will happen at times, only one of those will remain.

Dependence on God is not a lesser way of living; it is the only true way. Everything else is merely temporary stability. Faith is not proven when life is predictable; it is revealed when it is not. And in that place, the Christian stands, not self-sufficient but sustained.

Signing off,

Tyrone