Victory Belongs To Jesus Quotes

Jesus no longer belongs to the past but lives in the present and is projected toward the future; Jesus is the everlasting "today" of God. This is how the newness of God appears to the women, the disciples, and all of us: as victory over sin, evil, and death - over everything that crushes life and makes it seem less human. And this is a message meant for me and for you, dear sister, you, dear brother. How often does Love have to tell us, "Why do you look for the living among the dead?" Our daily problems and worries can wrap us up in ourselves, in sadness and bitterness...and that is where death is. That is not the place to look for the One who is alive!

Gideon conquers, the church conquers, we conquer, because faith conquers. But the victory belongs not to Gideon, the church, or ourselves, but to God. And God's victory means our defeat, our humiliation; it means God's derision and wrath at all human pretensions of might, at humans puffing themselves up and thinking they are somebodies themselves. It means the world and its shouting is silenced, that all our ideas and plans are frustrated; it means the cross. The cross over the world -- that means that human beings, even the most noble, go down to dust whether it suits them or not, and with them all the gods and idols and lords of this world. The cross of Jesus Christ --that means God's bitter mockery of all human grandeur and God's bitter suffering in all human misery, God's lordship over all the world.

The imagery of rescue and victory places the themes of reconciliation and forgiveness into another context altogether, where they are brought in under the heading of God acting to make right what has been wrong (rectification). Then, and only then, can the whole complex of ideas and images be located where it belongs, on the battlefield of Christ against the Powers. This is the overarching panorama against which to place the imagery of the Great Assize, or Last Judgment.

Gideon conquers, the church conquers, we conquer, because faith conquers. But the victory belongs not to Gideon, the church, or ourselves, but to God. And God's victory means our defeat, our humiliation; it means God's derision and wrath at all human pretensions of might, at humans puffing themselves up and thinking they are somebodies themselves. It means the world and its shouting is silenced, that all our ideas and plans are frustrated; it means the cross. The cross over the world -- that means that human beings, even the most noble, go down to dust whether it suits them or not, and with them all the gods and idols and lords of this world. The cross of Jesus Christ --that means God's bitter mockery of all human grandeur and God's bitter suffering in all human misery, God's lordship over all the world.

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel “T hey shall call his name Immanuel” (which means, God with us)” (Matthew 1:23 ESV). This is perhaps our oldest Christmas carol. Historians say its roots go back to the 8th century. In its earliest form, it was a “plain song” or a chant and the monks sang it a cappella. It was sung or chanted in Latin during the seven days leading up to Christmas. Translated into English by John Mason Neale in 1851, we sing it to the tune “Veni, Emmanuel,” a 15th-century melody. Many churches sing it early in the Advent season because of its plaintive tone of expectant waiting. Traditionally Advent centers on the Old Testament preparation for the coming of the Messiah who will establish his kingdom on the earth. When the words form a prayer that Christ will come and “ransom captive Israel,” we ought to remember the long years of Babylonian captivity. Each verse of this carol features a different Old Testament name or title of the coming Messiah: “O come, O come, Emmanuel.” “O come, Thou Wisdom from on high.” “O come, Thou Rod of Jesse.” “O come, Thou Day-spring.” “O come, Thou Key of David.” “O come, Thou Lord of Might.” “O come, Desire of Nations.” This carol assumes a high level of biblical literacy. That fact might argue against singing it today because so many churchgoers don’t have any idea what “Day-spring” means or they think Jesse refers to a wrestler or maybe to a reality TV star. But that argument works both ways. We ought to sing this carol and we ought to use it as a teaching tool. Sing it—and explain it! We can see the Jewish roots of this carol in the refrain: Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel. But Israel’s Messiah is also our Savior and Lord. What Israel was waiting for turns out to be the long-expected Jesus. So this carol rightly belongs to us as well. The first verse suggests the longing of the Jewish people waiting for Messiah to come: O come, O come, Emmanuel And ransom captive Israel That mourns in lonely exile here Until the Son of God appears The second verse pictures Christ redeeming us from hell and death: O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free Thine own from Satan’s tyranny From depths of Hell Thy people save And give them victory o’er the grave This verse reminds us only Christ can take us home to heaven: O come, Thou Key of David, come, And open wide our heavenly home; Make safe the way that leads on high, And close the path to misery. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel. Let’s listen as Selah captures the Jewish flavor of this carol. Lord, we pray today for all those lost in the darkness of sin. We pray for those who feel there is no hope. May the light of Jesus shine in their hearts today. Amen.

The trial scene, which we have already studied from several angles, now comes into complete focus. At stake was the whole career of Jesus, climaxing in his journey to Jerusalem, which itself exploded in his action in the Temple, and was further explained by his Last Supper. The trial opened, as it was bound to do, with the question about the Temple. Jesus had claimed authority over it, authority indeed to declare its destruction. This could only be because he believed himself to be the Messiah? Yes, answered Jesus: and you will see me vindicated, enthroned at the right hand of Power.114 The whole sequence belongs together precisely as a whole. The final answer drew into one statement the significance of the journey to Jerusalem, the Temple-action, and the implicit messianic claim. Together they said that Jesus, not the Temple, was the clue to, and the location of, the presence of Israel’s god with his people.115 Sociologically, this represented a highly radical Galilean protest against Jerusalem. Politically, it constituted a direct challenge to Caiaphas’ power-base and his whole position—and, of course, to those of Caesar and Pilate. Theologically, it was either true or it was blasphemous. Caiaphas wasted no time considering the former possibility.

If you belong to Jesus, then you are a child of God. You have the right to walk in power and victory and to expect miraculous answers to your prayers.

them in you and include them in this time of prayer. Dearest God, holy and victorious Trinity, you alone are worthy of all my worship, my heart’s devotion, all my praise and all my trust and all the glory of my life. I love you, I worship you, and I give myself over to you in my heart’s search for life. You alone are Life, and you have become my life. I renounce all other gods, every idol, and I give you God the place in my heart and in my life that you truly deserve. I confess here and now that it is all about you, God, and not about me. You are the Hero of this story, and I belong to you. I ask your forgiveness for my every sin. Search me and know me and reveal to me where you are working in my life and grant me your healing, deliverance and the grace of a deep and true repentance. Heavenly Father, thank you for loving me and choosing me before you made the world. You are my true Father—my creator, redeemer, sustainer, and the true end of all things, including my life. I love you, I worship you, I trust you. I give myself over to you to be one with you as Jesus is one with you.

All these months, she’d thought verbalizing her guilty deeds would cause her misery to multiply. She assumed the shame would strangle her, leave her devastated like a discarded waif. But instead, a small bud peeked out its newborn head, finding root in her soul. Hope. She cautiously raised her eyes, and Tilly pulled Rosalie into her time-aged arms. It was hard to believe they’d just met. It was hard to believe she’d confessed all, and still this woman snuggled her close. The tears came, but with each cry she released, it seemed the wind picked the heartbreak up and carried it away like an old crusty leaf. Then, when her past lay before her, naked and stark, with no more accusations and regrets, an irresistible urge to pray captured Rosalie. Vic, Birdie, her family all had spoken the truth of how Jesus took her punishment when He suffered and died on the cross. She’d heard more than one sermon that had proclaimed we simply had to confess our sins, and God would be faithful to forgive them. More than that, He’d also take the punishment too. She didn’t understand a love like that, but it was worth trying out. Take my punishment, Jesus. Rosalie knew she deserved to be condemned for her sins; she’d always known that. But she thought she could somehow serve the sentence herself by doing good things, working hard, acting perfect. For the first time, she understood that her sin was too heavy for her to carry, too weighty for her to pay off. She needed someone else to carry it for her. Her mom had sung of Christ’s “vast, unmeasured, boundless, free” love, but Rosalie had never thought it was for her. She had too much sin, too much darkness, too much pride. But now she knew His forgiveness belonged to her. And she belonged to Jesus. “Jesus, thank You for accepting me when I don’t deserve it,” she whispered. “From this day forward I want to live for You.” She closed her eyes, soaking in the sun, which had returned to warm her. And as she enjoyed the warmth of Tilly’s hug, Rosalie pictured Jesus holding her in the same way.

The church has an eschatological horizon and is, as proleptic manifestation of God's reign, the beachhead of the new creation, the vanguard of God's new world, and the sign of the dawning new age in the midst of the old (cf Beker 1980:313; 1984:41). At the same time it is precisely as these small and weak Pauline communities gather in worship to celebrate the victory already won and to pray for the coming of their Lord (“Marana tha !”), that they become aware of the terrible contradiction between what they believe on the one hand and what they empirically see and experience on the other, and also of the tension in which they live, the tension between the “already” and the “not yet.” “Christ the first fruits” has already risen from the dead (1 Cor 15:23) and the believers have been given the Spirit as “guarantee” of what is to come (2 Cor 1:22; 5:5), but there does not seem to be much apart from these “first fruits” and “pledge.” Like Abraham, they believe in hope against hope (Rom 4:18) and accept in faith the Spirit's witness that they are children and heirs of God and therefore fellow heirs with Christ—provided, says Paul, “we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him” (Rom 8:17). God will triumph, notwithstanding our weakness and suffering, but also in the midst of and because of and through our weakness and suffering (cf Beker 1980:364f). Faith is able to bear the tension between the confession of God's ultimate triumph, and the empirical reality of this world, for it knows that “in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us” (Rom 8:37) and that “in everything God works for good with those who love him, who are called according to his purpose” (8:28). Nowhere has Paul portrayed this unbearable (and precisely for this reason bearable!) tension more profoundly than in 2 Corinthians 4:7-10: But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, to show that the transcendent power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair, persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. Our Christian life in this world thus involves an inescapable tension, oscillating between joy and agony. Whereas, on the one hand, suffering and weakness become all the more intolerable and our agonizing, because of the terrifying “not yet,” intensifies, we can, on the other hand, already “rejoice in our sufferings” (Rom 5:2). This means that our life in this world must be cruciform; Paul bears on his body “the marks of Jesus” (Gal 6:17; cf Col 1:24), he carries “in the body the death of Jesus,” and while he lives he is “always being given up to death for Jesus’ sake” (2 Cor 4:10f) (cf also Beker 1980:145f, 366f; 1984:120).

Many of you remember The Scarlet Letter, the novel that wardrobed its protagonist in a stigma or sign of reproach. But “A” is not the only letter a person can feel she is wearing. Some of us have looked like we spilled alphabet soup on our sweaters. Beloved, if you are wearing any kind of reproach from your past—especially if victimization has placed a letter there that never belonged on you—may God remind you of the cross of Christ and memorialize the victory it brought you. Let Him cut that old piece of fabric from your life, roll it in the blood of Jesus, and cast it away forever.

If we take up once more the triad with which we began, we may now conclude: The sayings of Jesus which have been collected in the Sermon on the Mount are not intended to lay a legal yoke upon Jesus' disciples; neither in the sense that they say: "You must do all of this, in order that you may be saved" (per fectionist conception); nor in the sense: "You ought actually to have done all of this, see what poor creatures you are" (theory of the impossible ideal); nor in the sense: "Now pull yourself together; the final victory is at hand" (interim-ethic). Rather, these sayings of Jesus delineate the lived faith. They say: You are forgiven; you are the child of God; you belong to his kingdom. The sun of righteousness has risen over your life. You no longer belong to yourself; rather, you belong to the city of God, the light of which shines in the darkness. Now you may also experience it: out of the thankfulness of a redeemed child of God a new life is growing. That is the meaning of the Sermon on the Mount.

New covenant victory does not begin with doing but with seeing. God's presence is a gift. Therefore, God's nearness is something we perceive, not something we achieve. We overcome when we see that Jesus is in the darkest room in the house, too. The whole house belongs to Him.

Your fight against evil, Christian, is one of resistance. Do that and the devil will flee (James 4:7). The power to resist, including the motivation, happens by faith. Faith in the same Jesus that “disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him” (Col. 2:15). Your faith is your weapon against the enemy of everything good. “In all circumstances take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one” (Eph. 6:16). And yes, resisting the evil one by faith can sometimes feel like putting on shoes not made for your feet and a war you don’t have the stamina to win. But no worries. This cosmic conflict won’t last always, for the God of peace is coming. The shoes you have on don’t belong to you, but you will be victorious over the evil one as if they were. “The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet” (Rom. 16:20). Amen.

When it seems like grey and dark clouds in the sky remember, the Battle belongs to the Lord. Leaning and trusting on Him despite everything truly shows, "I am nothing without Jesus." Believing on Him that Victory is coming, oh Yes! I'm gonna see a victory for the battle belongs to Jesus.

Where the church demands, "Be holy!" Jesus whispers, "Be with me." Where the church says, "Call out the sinner!" Jesus says, "Reach out to the broken." Where the church warns, "The path is narrow and few find it!" Jesus, the Shepherd, says, "Out of my one hundred sheep, I'll leave the ninety-nine to find the lost one." Where the church cries, "Vengeance belongs to God!" Jesus weeps, "Father, forgive them!" Where the church claims, "God's justice is not diminished by his love."  Jesus says, "Divine love demands a justice that means victory for all, and all means all.

In a peasant society, where familial relations provided one’s basic identity, it was shocking in the extreme. In first-century Jewish culture, for which the sense of familial and racial loyalty was a basic symbol of the prevailing worldview, it cannot but have been devastating.135 Jesus was proposing to treat his followers as a surrogate family. This had a substantial positive result: Jesus intended his followers to inherit all the closeness and mutual obligations that belonged with family membership in that close-knit, family-based society. It also carried fairly clear negative consequences in that society: to be a member of one family meant sitting loose to membership in any other. Hence the remarkable demands for Jesus’ followers to ‘hate’ father, mother, siblings, spouse and children—and even their own selves.136 This was not just extraordinarily challenging at a personal level; it was deeply subversive at a social, cultural, religious and political level, as we shall see in due course.

But here at last we begin to discover why it has that all-conquering power. If the enslaving powers are to be overthrown, they must be robbed of their power base; and their power base is, as we saw, the fact that humans hand over power to them by worshipping them instead of worshipping the Creator, by the idolatry and consequent distortion of life that can be lumped together as “sin.” Once that sin has been dealt with, the power of the idols is broken; once the Messiah has been “made sin for us,” the way is open for the ministry of reconciliation to fan out in all directions. Inside the Passover-like victory over the powers is the end-of-exile dealing with sin; and the way sin is dealt with is by the appropriate substitution of the one who alone is the true representative. The one bore the sin of the many. The innocent died in the place of the guilty. This only makes sense within the narrative of love, of new Exodus, of end of exile—of Jesus. Put it into another narrative, and it becomes a dark, pagan horror. Put it back where it belongs, and it speaks of a compelling love. “The Messiah’s love makes us press on.