Steven Bradshaw

Category: Encouragement

  • Assurance, Not Chronology: Why Paul Says We’re Already “Glorified”

    Romans 8:28–30 contains one of the most comforting (and most misunderstood)statements in all of Scripture. Paul writes that those whom God justified, “he also glorified.”

    At first glance, that raises a question: How can glorification be past tense when we’re clearly not glorified yet? We still suffer. We still groan. We still bury our dead and battle sin.

    The mistake is assuming Paul is giving us a timeline. He’s not. He’s giving us assurance.

    When Paul says, “those he justified, he also glorified,” he isn’t laying out the order or timing of salvation events the way a systematic theology chart might. He’s doing something far more pastoral…and far more powerful.

    1. Paul Is Speaking to Anxious, Suffering Believers

    Romans 8 is not written to people living comfortable, settled lives. It’s written to believers who are hurting.

    Paul explicitly mentions that they are:

    • Suffering (8:17–18)
    • Groaning along with creation itself (8:22–23)
    • Weak and unsure, often not even knowing how to pray (8:26)
    • Facing opposition, loss, and persecution (8:35–36)

    So the driving question of the chapter is not:

    “When exactly will glorification happen?”

    The real question is:

    “Can anything stop God from finishing what He started?”

    Paul’s answer is a resounding no.

    2. The Past Tense Communicates Certainty, Not Sequence

    In Greek, and throughout Scripture more broadly, the past tense (especially the aorist) often emphasizes completeness, not timing.

    Paul’s point is not:

    “First this happened, then that happened, and now glorification has already occurred.”

    His point is:

    “Everyone God justifies will, without exception, be glorified.”

    By using past tense language, Paul is saying:

    • God’s saving purpose is whole
    • God’s saving plan is unbreakable
    • God’s saving work moves from beginning to end without loss

    The grammar doesn’t underline calendar placement. It underlines certainty.

    3. Paul Collapses Time to Strengthen Hope

    Paul intentionally pulls the future into the present…not to confuse believers, but to reassure them.

    Think of it this way:

    • From our perspective: glorification is future
    • From God’s purpose: glorification is settled

    Paul is speaking from the standpoint of God’s saving decree, not human experience.

    Paul’s message is simple but profound: God’s promise is so firm that it can be spoken of as history.

    4. Why Chronology Misses the Point

    If Paul were focused on chronology, Romans 8:30 would raise all kinds of problems:

    • Why isn’t sanctification mentioned?
    • Why is glorification past tense?
    • Why are suffering and groaning still so real?

    But those questions fade once we see Paul’s purpose.

    He isn’t building a theological flowchart. He is:

    • Anchoring assurance
    • Quieting fear
    • Strengthening perseverance

    Romans 8:30 functions more like a legal declaration than a timeline. The verdict has already been rendered.

    5. The Pastoral Payoff

    Here’s the heart of Paul’s move:

    If God has already decided the end, then your present suffering cannot undo it.

    So…when believers feel:

    • fragile
    • threatened
    • uncertain about the future

    Paul says, in effect:

    Your glorification is not hanging in the balance. It is already secured in God’s saving purpose.

    That’s why Romans 8 immediately flows into questions like:

    • “If God is for us, who is against us?” (8:31)
    • “Who can bring an accusation against God’s elect?” (8:33)
    • “Who can separate us from the love of Christ?” (8:35)

    Those questions only make sense if glorification is guaranteed, not tentative.

    A Clean Summary

    Paul uses past tense language to assure believers that God’s saving work will not fail. He is not mapping the timeline of salvation. He is declaring the certainty of its outcome.

    For weary Christians, that’s not a technical detail. It’s oxygen.

  • The Hidden Danger in Helping

    Why Pastoral Care Sometimes Hinders Growth—and How to Set Loving Boundaries

    In pastoral ministry, one of my greatest joys is walking with people as they grow in Christ. I listen, pray, teach, and encourage—often in moments of deep pain. But sometimes, a relationship that began in healthy discipleship can quietly shift into something else: dependency.

    What I Mean by “Dependency”

    I’m not talking about the beautiful, biblical kind of dependence on Christ or healthy mutual care within the church family. I’m talking about when a person begins to lean on you—their pastor, mentor, or friend—in a way that replaces leaning on the Lord or on the body of believers as a whole.

    In some cases, it may even become codependency, where both sides unintentionally reinforce the unhealthy attachment. In dependency, the burden flows mainly one way—the person becomes emotionally or spiritually reliant on a single relationship for stability, security, or identity.

    It can happen slowly, and it’s rarely intentional. But left unchecked, it stunts spiritual growth for both people and can become damaging over time.

    Red Flags of Unhealthy Dependency

    From experience, here are a few signs that a pastoral or mentoring relationship might have drifted from healthy discipleship toward dependency:

    1. Constant crisis contact – The person reaches out almost every time they feel hurt, anxious, or unsure—often before they pray or seek God’s Word themselves.
    2. Discomfort with absence – Even brief unavailability (a day or two without response) is interpreted as rejection or abandonment.
    3. Exclusive trust – They resist advice to seek counsel from others, especially within their own local church.
    4. Role confusion – They begin to see you as a surrogate parent, sibling, or sole confidant rather than a pastor or brother/sister in Christ.
    5. Emotional escalation – Conversations regularly spiral into intense emotions that center on your availability rather than on Christ’s sufficiency.
    6. Spiritual stagnation – Their walk with the Lord doesn’t seem to progress unless you are actively leading, prompting, or explaining.

    These aren’t signs to condemn someone—they’re signs to lovingly intervene before harm is done.

    Why It’s Spiritually Dangerous

    When we allow dependency to grow unchecked, the other person may begin to see us as their savior, refuge, or source of wisdom rather than Jesus Christ. In some cases, they may even avoid facing hard truths because our presence makes it easier to cope without real change.

    For the one providing care, the danger is more subtle: we can start to feel irreplaceable, needed, or even responsible for their spiritual life. That’s a burden only the Lord can carry.

    Setting Loving Boundaries

    Boundaries aren’t punishment. They’re a gift—both for the other person’s growth and for our own faithfulness. I haven’t always been good at this. But, I’ve tried to learn. Here’s how I try to set them with compassion:

    1. Affirm care and commitment
      Let them know you love them and are praying for them. Make it clear that the boundary is about helping them grow, not about rejection. “I care deeply for you, and I want to see you grow in Christ. That means I can’t be the only person you turn to for counsel. I want to encourage you to lean into Jesus and into your church family.”
    2. Clarify the role
      Remind them that your role is to equip and point them to Christ—not to replace Him.
    3. Encourage other connections
      Direct them toward pastors, small group leaders, or mature believers in their church. Encourage them to share questions or prayer requests with those people first.
    4. Set specific limits
      Define when and how you’ll respond to messages, and what kinds of conversations you can have.
    5. Release the outcome
      They may feel hurt or even accuse you of abandonment. You can’t control that. Your responsibility is to love them, pray for them, and trust the Holy Spirit to work.

    A Pastoral Encouragement

    It’s not easy to walk away from an unhealthy pattern, especially when the other person is hurting. I’ve had to do this myself, and it never feels good in the moment. But Scripture reminds us:

    “He must increase, but I must decrease.” – John 3:30

    If we truly want someone to grow, we must sometimes step out of the way so they can see Christ more clearly. That may mean they lean on others in the body, wrestle in prayer, or search Scripture themselves before reaching out.

    As shepherds, our call is to point to the Chief Shepherd. When someone moves from needing us to needing Him, even through painful boundaries, that’s not failure—it’s fruit.

  • Create in Me a Clean Heart: When You Need a Do-Over

    Post 2 of 3 \\ Psalm 51

    We all know the feeling of regret. The shame that sticks. The moments we wish we could rewind. David had those too. But instead of wallowing in guilt, he cried out: “Create in me a clean heart, God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.”

    Notice that word: create. David doesn’t ask for a touch-up. He doesn’t say, “Make my old heart work again.” He asks for something brand new.

    That’s the kind of mercy God gives. Not a repair job. Not spiritual Febreze. A total do-over.

    Reflection: What parts of your life feel too broken for restoration?

    Through Christ, the God who spoke galaxies into being speaks new life into broken people. He makes us new from the inside out. That’s not just doctrine. That’s hope.

    Prayer: Father, I need more than a second chance. I need a new heart. Make me new by Your Spirit and keep me close.

  • His Only Banner Over Me Is Love

    Sometimes I feel like I’m being pulled in every direction—responsibilities, distractions, expectations, and the occasional temptation to chase after things that never satisfy. In those moments, it’s not that I’ve forgotten who Jesus is… it’s that I’ve wandered from remembering who I am to Him.

    There’s a lyric form an old Petra song (“First Love”) that always grabs my heart:

    “Your only banner over me is love.”

    It echoes a verse tucked into the love poetry of Song of Solomon 2:4:

    “He brought me to the banqueting house, and His banner over me was love.”

    In the ancient world, a banner wasn’t just decoration. It was identity. It marked whose army you were in, what nation you belonged to, or who you followed. It was a sign of belonging and allegiance.

    But the banner God flies over His people isn’t a war flag or a scoreboard tallying our wins and losses.

    It’s love.

    Not Performance. Not Shame. Just Love.

    We’re prone to imagine that God’s posture toward us changes based on how well we’re doing spiritually. If I’m reading my Bible, praying hard, making good choices—then God is pleased, right? But if I’ve been distracted, drifting, or struggling with sin—then maybe He’s disappointed, holding back, or just waiting for me to get it together.

    That’s not the God of the Bible.

    “but God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)

    God doesn’t fly a banner that says, “Try harder” or “Almost good enough.”
    He flies one banner over His children: “Loved.”
    Not because we’ve earned it, but because Jesus did.

    For the Wandering Heart

    This matters deeply—especially for anyone who feels the tension between knowing the truth and struggling to live it out. The Christian life isn’t about trying to impress God. It’s about remembering who we are in Christ and returning—again and again—to the one who loved us first.

    When your heart starts to drift, when the world seduces your affections, when you feel unworthy, look up.

    See the banner He’s still flying over you.
    It hasn’t changed.
    It never will.

    From the Song:
    “Because You first loved me, Jesus, You will always be my First Love.”

    Return to your First Love. The banner is still up.

     A PRAYER

    Jesus, thank You that the banner over my life isn’t based on my performance but on Your perfect love. When I wander, remind me who I am in You. Woo me back with Your kindness. Help me rest under the covering of Your love—and let it be the banner I live under every day. Amen.

  • When the Weight Won’t Lift: Fighting the Spirit of Heaviness with Praise

    “…to give them beauty for ashes,
    the oil of joy for mourning,
    the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness…”
    — Isaiah 61:3 KJV

    We don’t talk about it much in church, but many believers know what it feels like to carry a spirit of heaviness.

    It’s more than a bad mood. It’s despair. It’s a weight. A mental, emotional, even spiritual weight. It settles on your soul and won’t go away. You may feel foggy, discouraged, anxious, or even spiritually numb. It clutters your thinking and clouds your connection with God. And it lies to you:

    “You’re too far gone.”
    “You’ll never get through this.”
    “No one sees what you’re going through.”

    If that sounds familiar, you’re not alone. And you’re not stuck.

    What Is the Spirit of Heaviness?

    In simple terms, the “spirit of heaviness” is despair. It is a kind of spiritual oppression — a fog that can weigh you down mentally and emotionally. It’s not always clinical depression (though it can overlap), and it doesn’t mean you’re weak or broken. But it is real, and it is something Scripture speaks directly to.

    And here’s the good news: God has a weapon for this.

    Praise Is More Than a Mood — It’s a Weapon of Glory

    Isaiah 61 says God gives us “the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.” That’s not just poetic. It’s strategic. Praise is how we fight back.

    Praise isn’t just celebrating when life feels good. It’s declaring God’s goodness when life feels heavy. It’s not ignoring pain — it’s choosing to lift your eyes above it.

    Praise is spiritual warfare.
    Praise is rebellion against hopelessness.
    Praise is speaking truth louder than the lies.

    You don’t have to feel it to choose it. Sometimes the most powerful praise comes through tears and trembling hands. When you choose to praise, you’re reaching for the garment God has offered you — and it fits.

    And there’s even more power packed into that idea.

    The Hebrew word “kāḇôḏ” (כָּבוֹד), often translated as glory, comes from a root that means “heavy” or “weighty.” In this context, kabad praise is praise that carries substance. It’s not shallow or surface-level. It’s thick with the reality of who God is.

    So while the enemy wants to bury you under the weight of heaviness, God invites you to carry a different kind of weight — His own glory. That’s what praise does. It shifts the heaviness from despair to honor. From sorrow to strength.

    Final Thought: Wear the Garment

    You may feel like you’re walking around with a heavy cloak on your shoulders. But God has laid out something better — a garment of praise. It doesn’t magically make your problems disappear, but it lifts your heart to a higher place.

    Put it on. Even if it feels awkward at first. Even if all you can say is, “God, I trust You.” That’s praise. That’s the beginning of the battle.

    Call to Action

    If you’re struggling under a spirit of heaviness, take 5 minutes right now.
    No phone. No noise. Just you and God.

    • Speak His name out loud.
    • Thank Him for who He is — even if you don’t feel it yet.
    • Sing a song of worship or read a Psalm.

    Then do it again tomorrow. And the next day.
    Praise isn’t a one-time fix — it’s a daily choice to fight from victory, not for it.

    You’re not alone.
    You’re not defeated.
    You’re dressed for battle.

  • MD Anderson

    Originally written in 2014.

    I’m in the cafeteria at MD Anderson Cancer Center. My mom is getting some tests done. To my left sits a group of Japanese doctors. They’re visitors. The only thing I know about them is that one of the female doctors gave up her chair so that our family could all be seated. I say, “Thank you.” She elegantly bows her head in acknowledgement.

    To the right across the aisle is an Indian man with a bad comb-over. Next to him is a man who clearly has spent some time lifting weights. Just beyond him sits a black lady with a tube attached to her chest next to a clearly visible scar. She looks like she’s praying. Not too far from them is a teenage girl whose bald head announces the reason we are all here.

    Some, like us, are here for an initial visit hoping for a diagnosis that doesn’t have the dreaded “c-word.” Some have been here long enough  that their bodies have been weakened by the poison that is being used to fight the “c-word.” There are too many of them. A father and son sharing a tablet computer while they wait. A husband gently holding his wife’s hand. A teenage girl hanging out with her mom. Another bald man…sitting alone…staring off into the distance. A lady in green shirt that looked like a turtle shell whose smile and returning hair seemed to be saying, “There’s hope.” A Chinese lady whose eyes peer above a mask that covers the rest of her face. Our eyes met. I smiled. Her mask changed shape. I hope it was a smile.

    You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out that the “c-word” is no respecter of race or age. It doesn’t care if you have a bad comb-over or a perfect hair-style. It doesn’t notice if you have great muscles or if you’ve never been to a gym. It. Just. Strikes.

    And so we wait. And wait. Some for a diagnosis. Some for the next treatment…linked together by the dreaded “c-word.”

    The people who work here do what they can to make you feel comfortable. Nurses smile as they go about their work. Volunteers have conversations with patients that help to take your mind off of things. A lady comes by delivering free hot tea or coffee or hot chocolate. I’ll remember the happy nurse on the elevator who invited is in to a crowded elevator. “C’mon on in, honey, we’re all family here.” Yeah, let’s be linked together by that.

    The tag line on the signs here at MD Anderson is “Making Cancer History.” May it be so. Until then, I pray. For the patients…for doctors and nurses and researchers…for my friends, Shannon and Amy…for my momma…

    Right now, we wait…and pray.

    >>>>>> April 24, 2025

    Now, 11 years later, it’s Dad’s turn. We’re not in those same halls, but the waiting feels just as heavy. I catch myself thinking of those others like I did years ago—the ones I watched and quietly prayed for. Different place, different time, but the same questions, the same hoping. This time, it’s our family again, holding our breath, waiting for answers. Will you pray for him? For clarity in the treatment plan, for healing, and for the kind of peace that only God can give.

  • Faith in the Storm

    I’ve been sitting with Matthew 14:22–33 this week, and I can’t shake the image of Peter stepping out of that boat.

    Jesus had just fed thousands, the crowds were fired up, and He immediately sent His disciples away. Why? John tells us it’s because the people were about to force Him into kingship. Jesus knew the hearts of the crowd…and the hearts of His friends. So, He sent them into a boat, into a storm.

    Let that sink in: Jesus sent them into the storm.

    It wasn’t an accident. And it wasn’t punishment. It was preparation.

    Out in the middle of that storm, Jesus came walking toward them. And Peter stepped out of the boat. For a moment, his eyes were locked on Jesus, and he did something no one else in the boat had the courage to do: he walked on water.

    But then… the waves. The wind. The fear.

    Peter started to sink.

    Can I just say… I’ve been there.

    I’ve had moments where I stepped out in faith, sure I was doing what God called me to do… only to get overwhelmed when the storm rolled in. Fear crept in. Doubt whispered. And like Peter, I cried out, “Lord, save me!”

    And just like He did for Peter, Jesus didn’t hesitate. He didn’t lecture first. He didn’t shame him.

    He reached out His hand.

    Scripture implies they walked back together to the boat—Jesus and Peter, side by side.

    And when they climbed in, the storm stopped.

    That’s a mark of a disciple.

    Not that we never doubt. Not that we never sink.

    But that we lean on Jesus when circumstances get scary.

    Because He’s always there. In the storm. In the fear. In the faith. In the fall.

    And yes… in the rescue.

    Friend, if you’re in a storm right now, lean in. He’s closer than you think.