There is a quiet war being fought inside the hearts of believers. It does not always announce itself with obvious arrogance or open rebellion. More often, it wears familiar clothing. It looks like defensiveness. It looks like comparison. It looks like spiritual activity performed for the wrong reasons. It is the war between pride and humility, and the outcome shapes everything about how we walk with God and with one another.

The starting point is a passage from Matthew 23:12, where Jesus draws a sharp line between two roads. One road belongs to those who seek to be honored and elevate themselves. The destination of that road is humiliation. The other road belongs to those who choose to humble themselves. The destination of that road is honor, given by God, in his timing. Two roads. Two destinations. And the choice of which road to walk is made quietly, in the posture of the heart, long before anyone else can see it.

We tend to picture pride as loud and obvious, the person who talks too much about their own accomplishments, the one who cannot stop reminding everyone of their position. But pride is far more subtle and far more dangerous than that. Pride is a root, and it produces different fruit depending on the person and the season.

Sometimes pride looks like King Saul, terrified of losing a position, becoming controlling and paranoid because his identity is completely wrapped up in the seat he holds. Sometimes pride looks like insecurity, quietly comparing yourself to others and either shrinking back or striving harder because the fear of not being enough is driving everything. And sometimes pride wears its most deceptive costume of all: spiritual clothing.

The religious spirit takes good spiritual activities and changes what is powering them underneath. Prayer becomes performance. Holiness becomes a tool for superiority. Discernment becomes suspicion. Correction becomes condemnation. The activities themselves are not the problem. The question is always the motivation. What is actually driving you? Is it love, or is it fear? Is it devotion, or is it the need to be seen as devoted?

The Pharisee in Luke 18:9-14 is a sobering portrait of this dynamic. He prays. He fasts. He tithes. Every box is checked. And yet Jesus says it is the tax collector, the one who will not even lift his eyes toward heaven, who goes home justified. The Pharisee's problem was not his discipline. His problem was that his discipline had become a measuring stick he used to place himself above everyone else. He was not worshiping God. He was worshiping his own record.

The story of Absalom in 2 Samuel offers one of the most striking illustrations of what happens when offense becomes ambition. Absalom had genuine grievances. His sister had been wronged, and David had not responded the way a father should have. That wound was real. But rather than bringing that wound to God, Absalom allowed it to fester into something far more dangerous. He positioned himself at the city gate, told the people their concerns were not being heard by David, and slowly, systematically, stole the loyalty of Israel. He did not take the throne by force at first. He took it by building an image, by implying he could lead better, by making himself the solution to a problem he had carefully cultivated in people's minds.

The contrast with David is striking. When Absalom's rebellion forced David to flee Jerusalem, David sent the ark of God back to the city. He refused to use the presence of God as a symbol to validate his own claim to power. He said plainly that if God wanted him on the throne, God would return him to it. If God did not, then so be it. David had learned this lesson painfully over years of waiting, of having opportunities to take the throne by force and refusing to do so. He understood something that Absalom never grasped: If God calls you to a seat, you do not have to steal the seat.

This is a word worth sitting with. The promises of God are not accelerated by our manipulation. They are fulfilled in his timing, through his means, to people who have been tested and prepared. Reaching ahead of that process does not speed things up. It derails them.

Humility is frequently misunderstood. It is not self-hatred. It is not pretending your gifts do not exist. It is not passivity in the face of injustice. True humility is actually a place of deep security. Jesus himself is the clearest picture of this. Philippians 2 describes someone who knew exactly who he was, where he came from, and where he was going, and from that place of security, chose to empty himself and serve. He did not grasp for position. He did not need to. His identity was not threatened by serving others, and so he could serve freely.

True humility can say, "I am gifted here, but I need help here." It can receive correction without attacking the messenger. It can celebrate someone else's promotion without questioning its own. It can hear an accusation, even a false one, and still pause to ask God to search the heart, not because every accusation is true, but because security in God makes that kind of examination possible rather than threatening.

The answer to religious striving is not less devotion. It is more, but of a different kind. Matthew 22:37-40 makes it simple. Love God with everything you have. Love your neighbor as yourself. Religion keeps score. Love celebrates. Religion exposes to condemn. Love confronts to restore. Religion asks whether you have done enough. Love asks how close you can get.

Pray because you love his presence. Pursue holiness because you want to look like Jesus. Discern because you want people to be free. Correct because you love someone enough to walk toward restoration with them.

The safest place for your calling is humility. If God gave it to you, he can establish it. If he promised it, he can fulfill it. Stay humble. Stay teachable. Stay close.

The Hebrew month of Av, which usually falls during July and August, is remembered as one of the saddest periods on the Jewish calendar. It is associated with the Israelites’ refusal to enter the Promised Land, the destruction of both the First and Second Temples, and other painful events remembered on Tisha B’Av.

Yet tragedy was never God’s original intention for this month.

Av was meant to mark the moment Israel entered its inheritance. It was supposed to be a season of fulfillment, celebration, and the realization of a promise generations had waited to receive. Instead, it became a reminder of what can happen when fear is given greater authority than the Word of God.

The month of Av reveals a timeless spiritual truth: every believer will face moments when circumstances appear to contradict what God has promised. In those moments, we must decide which voice we will believe.

Will we agree with fear, or will we remain anchored in God’s presence?

The Hebrew letter associated with Av is Tet, a letter whose shape resembles a womb. It represents hidden life—something being formed before it can be seen. This imagery reminds us that God may be preparing something even when there is little outward evidence of change.

Av is also associated with the tribe of Simeon, whose name is connected with the words “to hear.” This makes hearing especially significant during this month.

Romans 10:17 tells us that faith comes by hearing the Word of God. Every promise begins with what we choose to hear, receive, and believe.

The twelve spies who entered Canaan saw the same land. They walked through the same territory, encountered the same fortified cities, saw the same giants, and carried back the same extraordinary fruit.

They did not disagree about what was present in the land.

They disagreed about what those things meant.

Ten spies interpreted what they saw through fear. Joshua and Caleb interpreted it through the promise and presence of God. The issue was never simply what stood before them. The issue was what they believed about the God who had brought them there.

The ten spies returned with an evil report. Although they acknowledged that the land was fruitful, they concluded that Israel could not possess it.
The people accepted their interpretation.

They forgot the Red Sea, the pillar of cloud and fire, the manna from heaven, the water from the rock, and every other demonstration of God’s faithfulness. They allowed one fearful report to rewrite the story of everything God had already done.

Fear has a way of doing that.

It enlarges the obstacle while shrinking our awareness of God. It convinces us that the present difficulty is more reliable than the history of God’s faithfulness.

Israel’s confession became, in effect, “The enemy is too strong for us.”

Joshua and Caleb saw the same enemy, but Caleb declared:

“The Lord is with us. Do not fear them.”
—Numbers 14:9

Their confidence was not based on Israel’s military strength. It was grounded in the presence of God.

Because the nation agreed with fear and refused to enter the land, an entire generation remained outside its promised inheritance. The day intended to be remembered for blessing became associated with mourning.

Throughout Jewish history, other tragedies—including the destruction of the First and Second Temples—would also be remembered on Tisha B’Av. What was designed as a season of promise became connected with sorrow.

This does not mean every later tragedy was caused by the Israelites’ original decision. It does, however, show us that unbelief can have consequences far beyond a single moment. What we agree with today can influence where we live tomorrow.

The battle described in Numbers 13–14 was not merely a struggle between positive and negative thinking. It was a battle between the realm of fear and an awareness of God’s presence.

The first time fear appears in Scripture is after Adam and Eve sinned.
Adam told God:

“I heard You in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid.”
—Genesis 3:10

Before sin entered the world, Adam walked openly with God. When fear entered his heart, he hid from the very One who was pursuing him.

God called to Adam and asked, “Where are you?”

God had not lost Adam. He knew where Adam was physically. His question revealed that Adam had moved spiritually. Fear had drawn him into a place of shame, hiding, separation, and self-protection.

Fear continues to produce the same pattern in us. When it governs our hearts, we begin to hide instead of drawing near. We strive instead of trusting. We focus on our inadequacy rather than God’s sufficiency. We magnify the problem while losing sight of the Promise Keeper.

Fear does more than affect our emotions. It attempts to change the spiritual reality from which we live.

This is exactly what happened to Israel. Through their words, the ten spies invited an entire nation into the realm of fear. Joshua and Caleb remained anchored in another reality: God was present, God was faithful, and God had already promised them the land.

The difference was not the size of the giants.

The difference was their awareness of God.

God’s presence does not always remove the giants immediately, but it changes the way we see them.

When we become aware of His presence, fear begins to lose its voice. Peace replaces anxiety. Courage rises in the place of hesitation. We remember that we are not facing the battle alone.

This is one reason worship is so powerful.

Fear causes us to withdraw from God’s presence. Worship calls our attention back to Him. As our focus shifts from the greatness of the obstacle to the greatness of God, fear loses its authority and faith begins to grow.

One of the greatest tragedies in Israel’s story was not merely that the people believed the ten spies. It was that they forgot the God who had already proven Himself faithful.

Worship helps us remember.

Throughout Scripture, worship changes the atmosphere surrounding God’s people:
Jehoshaphat sent worshipers ahead of the army, and God fought the battle.

Paul and Silas worshiped in prison before their chains fell off.

David worshiped while surrounded by enemies.

Many Psalms begin with fear or distress but end in trust because the writer deliberately turns his attention toward God.

Worship does not change who God is. It changes what we are looking at.

Fear says, “The giants are bigger.”

Worship declares, “God is greater.”

Fear asks, “What if I fail?”

Worship remembers, “God has always been faithful.”

As we worship, anxiety loosens its grip, lies are exposed, truth becomes louder, and hope begins to rise. Worship participates in the renewing of our minds by filling our thoughts with the character, goodness, faithfulness, and promises of God.

Celebrating God’s goodness does not mean pretending our difficulties are not real. It means declaring that they are not greater than He is.

Praise becomes an act of faith that says, “My future will not be determined by fear. It will be shaped by the promises of God.”

Deuteronomy 30:19 records God placing a choice before His people: life or death, blessing or curse.

A biblical curse is not always the result of someone speaking harmful words over another person. It can also describe the consequences of choosing a path that leads away from God’s truth, wisdom, and protection.

Israel agreed with unbelief. Fear became their interpretation, complaining became their confession, and retreat became their decision.

They repeatedly declared that they would die in the wilderness—and the wilderness eventually became the place where that generation remained.

Their story invites us to examine the voices with which we are agreeing.

Are we agreeing with fear, shame, hopelessness, or the assumption that nothing will ever change? Have our circumstances become more influential than God’s Word? Are our words continually reinforcing the very thing from which God desires to free us?

Agreement is powerful because what we consistently believe influences how we respond. Fear may speak to us, but we do not have to receive its conclusions.

The good news of the gospel is that we are not permanently bound by yesterday’s agreements.

Galatians 3:13 tells us that Christ redeemed us from the curse by becoming a curse for us. Through His death and resurrection, Jesus made a way for us to leave behind every pattern that has kept us trapped outside His promises.

Breaking a curse begins by breaking our agreement with the lies that sustained it.
We can repent for agreeing with fear, unbelief, bitterness, hopelessness, and negative confession. Repentance is more than feeling sorry. It is a change of mind and direction. We withdraw our agreement from the lie and bring our thoughts back into agreement with God.
We can pray:

“Father, forgive me for agreeing with fear more than I have agreed with Your Word. I surrender every lie, expectation of failure, and hopeless confession. Through Jesus Christ, I receive freedom from every agreement that has kept me from moving forward. Renew my mind, restore my faith, and teach me to live from the truth of Your presence. Amen.”

We do not break agreement with lies only to leave an empty space. We replace them with truth.

Instead of saying, “I cannot overcome this,” we declare, “God is with me.”

Instead of saying, “Nothing will ever change,” we remember, “God is still working, even when I cannot see it.”

Instead of allowing fear to determine our future, we choose to believe that God remains faithful to His Word.

Faith is not denying what is happening around us. Faith is choosing God’s Word as the highest authority within it.

Joshua and Caleb did not deny that giants were in the land. Abraham did not deny that his body was old. David did not deny that Goliath was a dangerous warrior.

They simply refused to make the visible circumstance greater than the invisible faithfulness of God.

Faith grows as we read Scripture, remember what God has already done, declare His promises, and surround ourselves with people who strengthen our trust in Him.

It also grows through worship. As we intentionally turn our attention toward God, we begin to see the situation from His perspective. What once appeared impossible becomes an opportunity for obedience.

We may still feel fear, but courage is not the absence of fear. Courage is obedience in the presence of it.

God told Joshua:

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”
—Joshua 1:9

Joshua’s courage was rooted in one truth: God would be with him.

That same promise invites us forward today.

Knowing that a promise exists is not the same as entering it.

Hebrews 3–4 connects Israel’s refusal to enter Canaan with the danger of unbelief. The people heard the promise, but they did not respond with faith and obedience.

Many people know what God has said. They can quote His promises and describe His goodness. Yet entering His rest requires more than knowledge. It requires trust expressed through action.

Sometimes entering the blessing begins with one small step.

It may mean obeying while questions remain unanswered. It may mean moving forward while the giants are still visible. It may mean forgiving, speaking truth, asking for help, beginning again, or finally doing what God has been placing on your heart.

The presence of obstacles does not mean the promise has disappeared.

The giants were already in Canaan when God called it the Promised Land.

Your opposition does not automatically mean you have taken a wrong turn. Sometimes resistance appears because you are standing at the edge of something God has prepared for you.

Do not allow fear to convince you to retreat when God is inviting you to enter.

Hebrews 4:2 explains why the Israelites did not benefit from the message they heard:

“The message they heard was of no value to them, because they did not combine it with faith.”

The promise was not powerless. It remained unfulfilled in their lives because they did not mix what they heard with faith.

The month of Av reminds us that every believer eventually faces a decision.

We can agree with fear or agree with God’s Word.

We can remain outside the promise or take the next obedient step.

We can allow our circumstances to define God, or we can allow His character to redefine how we see our circumstances.

God’s heart has not changed. He still desires to turn seasons of sorrow into testimonies of redemption. What has been remembered as a time of tragedy can become an invitation to trust Him again.

Choose faith over fear.

Choose promise over unbelief.

Choose obedience over hesitation.

Choose the presence of God over the realm of fear.

Receive His promise. Mix it with faith. Worship until His voice becomes greater than the giants, and then take the next step into everything He has prepared for you.

There is a moment in every believer's life when the honeymoon ends. The early days of faith are electric. God seems to answer every prayer. Signs and wonders feel like daily bread. The sense of his nearness is almost tangible. And then, almost without warning, something shifts. Prayers seem to go unanswered longer. The spiritual fireworks quiet down. The road ahead looks less like a celebration and more like a long, demanding walk.

This is not abandonment. This is formation.

The Christian life was never meant to stop at salvation. Salvation is the door. Discipleship is everything that happens after you walk through it. And if the church is going to recover its power, its integrity, and its fruit, it must recover a serious understanding of what it means to be formed into the image of Christ.

Jesus did not commission his followers to go and make converts. He commissioned them to make disciples. The distinction matters enormously. A convert receives the gift of salvation. A disciple takes up the responsibility of lordship. One is a moment. The other is a lifelong process.

In Luke 9, Jesus makes the cost plain. Whoever wants to follow him must deny themselves, take up their cross daily, and follow. That word "daily" is doing a lot of work. It means this is not a one-time transaction. It is a continuous, deliberate surrender of self-will in exchange for the will of God.

Many people want Jesus as Savior. Far fewer are willing to make him Lord. And that distinction is where true discipleship begins.

The word "formation" sits inside the word "transformation" for a reason. When God forms a disciple, he is working on three interconnected areas of the human person.

The first is the mind. Romans 12 calls believers not to be conformed to the patterns of this world, but to be transformed by the renewing of the mind. Every person comes to faith carrying a mental framework built by their upbringing, their culture, their wounds, and their worldview. God intends to dismantle those false systems and replace them with truth.

The second is the body. First Corinthians 6:19-20 delivers a striking declaration: the body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, and believers are not their own. They have been bought with a price. This is not a comfortable truth for a culture that has built its identity around personal autonomy and the right to self-determination. But it is the truth nonetheless.

The third is the soul, the seat of the mind, will, and emotions. Proverbs 4 reminds us that out of the heart flow the issues of life. What comes out of a person's mouth reveals what is living in their heart. Sanctification is the ongoing work of allowing God to cleanse, heal, and reorder the inner life so that what flows outward looks increasingly like Christ.

One of the most important truths about healing and deliverance is this: freedom must lead somewhere. Jesus himself warned in Matthew 12:43-45 that when an unclean spirit leaves a person and returns to find the house swept clean but empty, it may return with company worse than itself. An empty house is not a victory. A filled, ordered, and yielded life is the goal.

This means that deliverance is not separate from discipleship. It is one of the pathways through which God removes what keeps a believer bound, confused, fearful, or limited. But deliverance must never replace formation. A person can receive freedom in a moment, but that freedom must be sustained through truth, repentance, renewed thinking, prayer, and continued obedience.

Deliverance without discipleship can create dependency. Discipleship without deliverance can leave people perpetually limited by bondages that have never been properly addressed. Both are necessary. Neither is sufficient alone.

Perhaps the most countercultural element of true discipleship is this: the love of God includes correction.

The modern church has often presented a version of divine love that is all warmth and no weight. It is love that accepts, affirms, and embraces, but never confronts. And while the acceptance of God is real and profound, it is not the whole picture. Hebrews 12 states plainly that the Lord disciplines those he loves, and that every true son or daughter receives correction. In fact, the passage goes further, saying that those who receive no discipline are not genuine children at all.

Jesus himself modeled this. In Luke 9 alone, he rebukes his disciples multiple times, correcting their unbelief, their pride, their sectarianism, and their impulse toward vengeance. This was not a failure of love. It was an expression of it. He loved them too much to leave them where they were.

Paul carried the same conviction. In Galatians 2, he opposed Peter to his face in front of others because Peter's hypocrisy was leading others astray. In 2 Timothy 4:2, he instructs Timothy to reprove, rebuke, and exhort with patience and teaching. In Titus 1:13, the goal of correction is stated simply: so that their lives will line up with the truths of the faith.
Revelation 3:19 ties it together with unmistakable clarity. Those whom God dearly loves, he rebukes and trains. And in the very next verse, the one so often used as an evangelistic appeal, he is standing at the door knocking, calling the church back into fellowship through repentance.

Are you open to being corrected by God? Are you open to being corrected by those who teach and pastor you?

These are not comfortable questions. But they are essential ones. The formation of a disciple requires teachability. It requires the willingness to receive hard things alongside the good things. It requires trusting that when correction comes from someone who loves Christ and loves you, it is not an attack. It is an act of care.

The goal of all of this, the testing, the correction, the formation, the surrender, is not a smaller life. It is a fruitful one. A life filled, ordered, and yielded to Christ. A life that goes and bears fruit that remains.

That is what discipleship is for.

Beholding the Beautiful One: A Call to Pure Devotion

In a world clamoring for our attention, what captures your gaze? What fills your thoughts in the quiet moments? The answer to these questions reveals more about our spiritual condition than we might realize.

The Power of What We Behold

There's a profound spiritual principle at work in our lives: we become what we behold. This truth cuts both ways—it can lead us toward transformation or deception. When we fix our eyes on the goodness of God, we're transformed into His likeness. But when we focus on evil, darkness, or even the gifts God has given us rather than the Giver Himself, we open ourselves to spiritual danger.
The enemy's strategy is deceptively simple: keep us focused on the evil in our lives, knowing that we'll become what we're beholding. As long as we keep looking at the darkness—whether in ourselves, our circumstances, or the world around us—it will continue to have dominion over us.
This isn't merely theoretical. We see this principle playing out in devastating ways when spiritual leaders fall, when anointed ministers become more enamored with their gifts than with the God who gave them, when we worship the thing God gave us instead of the One who gave it.

Love: The Most Powerful Weapon

Simple love for God will overcome most of the evil in our hearts. It's the most powerful weapon against evil in the world because loving God is our highest goal and must be the primary focus of our lives.
The two greatest commandments encapsulate everything: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love your neighbor as yourself. When we focus on these two things, the entire law is fulfilled in us. If we just concentrate on these foundational truths, the Lord will literally fulfill the rest of His law within us.
But here's the challenge: Do we want Jesus more than the anointing? Do we want Jesus more than the call, the ministry, or the gifts?
This question demands an honest answer because our response determines the trajectory of our spiritual lives.

The Danger of Pride and the Gift of Correction

One of the most sobering truths in Scripture is found in 1 Timothy 4:1, which warns that "in latter times some will turn away from the faith, giving attention to deluding and seducing spirits and doctrines that demons teach." None of us are exempt from this possibility.
A disciple must be willing to be corrected. When Peter tried to tell Jesus He was wrong about going to the cross, Jesus rebuked him sharply: "Get behind me, Satan." This wasn't harsh; it was necessary correction to keep Peter on the right path.
How do you react when someone lovingly corrects you? How do you respond when someone attempts to adjust your theology because it's been distorted? Are you quick to repent? Do you thank God that He brought someone who loved you enough to point out your blind spots?
The reality is stark: we all want the anointing, but nobody wants correction for the anointing. Yet without humility and a teachable spirit, God will not place His anointing on us. He will not be mocked.

Legalism Versus Grace

There's a critical distinction between legalism and grace that we must understand. Legalism gauges conduct by strict adherence to rules, emphasizing the letter rather than the spirit, accompanied by moral condemnation of those who don't conform. It's based on external constraints and punishment for violators.
Grace, on the other hand, is based on internal constraints. We need both law and grace. Laws define and limit how we should behave according to a code of conduct, but God's grace gives us the freedom to develop the kind of character that causes us to behave as we should in His mercy.
When we fall into legalism, we fall into a spirit of religion—bound to rules and laws rather than to God's love. This keeps us from the humility necessary to truly love the Lord and love others.

The Beauty That Transforms

The antidote to all these spiritual pitfalls is simple yet profound: behold the beauty of God.
"Beautiful one, I love you. Beautiful one, I adore. Beautiful one, my soul must sing."
God's beauty undoes us. He is the fairest of ten thousand, beautiful beyond description and compare. His beauty is what we were created to behold—the beauty of His love, the beauty of His mercy, the beauty of who He is.
Everything good flows from Him. There is nothing good apart from Him. And by His Spirit, He has placed His goodness within us.
When we behold His face, when we lift up our heads and allow the King of Glory to come in, everything changes. As Psalm 24 declares: "Who is this King of glory? The Lord of hosts, He is the King of glory."

A Heart Posture of Worship

True worship isn't about performance or perfection. It's about positioning our hearts to receive from God while giving Him glory. It's about praising Him not just for what He does, but for who He is.
Our God is greater. Our God is stronger. Our God is higher than any other. He is healer, awesome in power. And if our God is for us, who can stand against us?
This isn't empty declaration—it's the foundation of our faith. When we worship from this place of confidence in God's character, we're not moved by circumstances. We're not shaken by medical reports, financial pressures, or relational conflicts. We stand on the unchanging nature of our good God.

The Call to Repentance

James instructs us to confess our trespasses to one another so that we may be healed. This isn't about religious ritual; it's about the power of vulnerability and community in our spiritual lives.
When we humble ourselves, acknowledge our struggles, and invite others to pray for us, we position ourselves for breakthrough. Whether we're battling physical illness, emotional wounds, or spiritual attacks, confession and corporate prayer release healing power.
"Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me."
This must be our constant prayer—not a one-time event, but a lifestyle of repentance and renewal.

Standing in Victory

The earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof. He has founded it and established it. And He asks: "Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord? Who shall stand in His holy place?"
The answer: "He who has clean hands and a pure heart, who does not lift up his soul to what is false."
This is the generation of those who seek Him, who seek the face of the God of Jacob. When we lift up our heads and open the ancient doors, the King of Glory comes in—the Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle.
We are not fighting for victory; we're fighting from victory. Christ has already won. The walls we called sin and shame are now rubble. The giants we called death and grave are dead. He came, He died, He rose—and everything changed.

Moving Forward

So what will you behold today? Will you fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of your faith? Will you worship the Giver rather than the gifts? Will you allow His beauty to transform you from the inside out?
The invitation stands: taste and see that the Lord is good. His praise will ever be on our lips. His goodness will be our testimony. And His love will be the lens through which we see everything else.
This is our God—the one who loves us, saves us, and never stops working on our behalf, even when we don't see it or feel it.
May our hearts cry out continually: "Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come."