The Bubble Mower

 Some time ago I was going through some old boxes and found an old photo of my son, Britain, when he was a little boy, pushing a plastic lawnmower that puffed out streams of bubbles with every step. It took me back to those days when I was a young dad, mowing the yard under the hot Texas sun, my little boy watching from the house, eyes wide with fascination. He wanted so badly to join me, to be part of the action.

So, one day, I went to Walmart and bought him a bubble mower. Every Saturday after that, we’d head out together—me with the gas powered mower, him trailing behind with his plastic toy mower, bubbles and grass clippings swirling together in the air. His mower didn’t cut a single blade of grass. It just made bubbles. But to him, we were working together.

When the lawn was even and we’d worked up a thirst, we’d head inside, sweaty and tired, and pour ourselves glasses of iced tea. We’d sit at the table, clinking our glasses together, grinning like we’d just conquered the world. “We mowed the lawn, didn’t we, buddy?” I’d say. He’d beam, nodding proudly. When his mom, Traci, came out, we’d brag about our work—how we got the edges just right, how the yard looked perfect. His smile would stretch ear to ear, and my heart would swell. There’s nothing like spending time with my son.

One day, as I looked at him, I felt the Lord speak to me, kind and clear. “You do realize that’s you and me, right?” This was a shot to the ego because we had been in the sweet spot of buying land, building a church, a watching it grow. I was getting all kinds of recognition from our denomination and was constants reminded that we were being watched with great delight. It felt good. We had new people coming and many were giving their lives to Jesus and encountering the Holy Spirit. Lives were being impacted, and we were effective. It felt really good. But pride is a sneaky monster, and God won’t leave that unconfronted. 

He said. “You’re out there, pushing your bubble mower, thinking you’re doing big things for My kingdom. And that’s okay—I love that you try, and I love being with you. But I’m the one doing this work. You’re just blowing bubbles, and I  am delighted to make you look like a genius.”

It hit me hard, but it was so gentle. God lets us sweat and strive, lets us feel the weight of the work, and then He celebrates us, saying, “Well done. We cut the grass, didn’t we?” And I smile, knowing I’m just pushing the bubble mower, but He makes it matter. He makes it beautiful. And in those moments, sitting with my son, drinking iced tea, and I see it: the joy isn’t in what we accomplish, but in doing it together—Him and me, me and my boy, all of us covered in bubbles, grass, sweat, and grace.

His incredible grace and the furious love of God is the foundation of your identity and the fuel for your life. First Corinthians 13 is not just a description of love but a revelation of who God is and who you are becoming. As you behold Him, you are transformed, reflecting His patience, kindness, and endurance. This transformation is not about self-discipline but about surrender, allowing Christ in you, the hope of glory, to take the lead (Colossians 1:27).

God’s love is transformative because it is unconditional. He does not love you based on your performance but because you are His. This love casts out fear (1 John 4:18), frees you from shame, and empowers you to live boldly. When you know you are loved, you can love others without reservation, becoming a vessel of God’s grace in a broken world.

As you embrace this love, you’ll find that it changes everything. It reshapes your perspective, heals your wounds, and empowers you to live out your identity. You are not defined by your past, your mistakes, or the lies you’ve believed. You are defined by the love of God, a love that never fails and always endures. It’s bigger, faster, stronger, and more powerful than every lie you or anyone has ever believed about you.

The Joy of Ruling and Reigning

Your assignment as a child of God is no less than that of Adam in the Garden: to rule and reign. Genesis 1:26 is clear—God gave humanity dominion over the earth, a mandate to steward creation with wisdom and love. This calling hasn’t changed. You and I are called to reign according to our identity and rule according to our authority. But let’s not make this too heavy, like some cosmic job description. The word "authority" might sound serious, even intimidating, but it’s not meant to drag you down. The very essence of God’s presence is marked by joy, and this calling to rule and reign in union with Christ is meant to be an adventure marked by joy and overflowing with grace.

The Bible declares, "In the presence of the Lord is fullness of joy" (Psalm 16:11). If you’re not experiencing the abundance of enjoying life, don’t worry. You’re just beginning to discover the depth of your identity and authority in union with Christ. Jesus came to give us abundant life (John 10:10), not a life of religious drudgery or endless striving. The Christian life is not about grimly checking boxes or proving your worth to God and the church—it’s about living in the freedom and delight of who God created you to be. If you find yourself bogged down by seriousness, religion, or legalism, it’s a red flag telling you that you’ve forgotten the joy that marks God’s presence.

This joy is deeper than happiness. It will sustain you in grief and suffering. It is not a fleeting emotion but a reflection of God’s nature. In the context of this joy, God, whose very essence is love, prophesied you into being. He thought of you in a happy mood, with a heart full of delight. The Psalmist writes, "How precious are your thoughts toward me, O God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand" (Psalm 139:17-18). Every thought God has toward you is precious, filled with love and purpose. He spoke you into existence with His voice and breath, crafting you as a unique expression of His heart.

No other creation in the universe is made like humanity. While God spoke the stars and seas into being, He formed humanity with His hands, voice, and breath together. This is union with Christ, our creator and sustainer, from the very beginning. The Bible tells us, "Then the Lord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature" (Genesis 2:7). Picture this intimate moment: God, the Creator of all things, kneels in the dust, shapes Adam with His hands, lifts him to His face, and breathes His Spirit—the very Word—into his lungs. The first breath humanity took was the Holy Spirit, the life-giving presence of God Himself.

This truth shatters the idea that the Holy Spirit’s presence was a new phenomenon in Acts 2. The Spirit has always been the means of our existence, the breath that animates us. Acts 2 was not the arrival of the Spirit but a fresh outpouring, an upgrade in our awareness of what we’ve always had access to. The Spirit has never left us, for "in Him all things hold together" (Colossians 1:17). You cannot lose the presence of God; you can only lose your awareness of it. On a cellular level, you are held together by the power of His Word, a constant reminder of your origin in Him.

The joy of ruling and reigning comes from this awareness. When you know that you are held together by the Word of God, that His Spirit is the source of your life, you can step into your calling with confidence. You are not alone in this assignment. The God who created you is with you, empowering you to reflect His image and exercise His authority. This is not a task to be endured but a privilege to be enjoyed, a partnership with the Creator who delights in you.

(From an upcoming book on New Covenant Identity by Bill Vanderbush)

It Is Finished: The Cosmic Victory of the Cross

Turn to John 19:30, where we find what I believe are the three most important words ever uttered in all of time and eternity: "It is finished". These words, spoken by Jesus Christ from the cross, carry a weight that surpasses even the profound declarations of God’s love or the creation of humanity in His image. Today, I invite you to gather around the Word of God as we unpack one of the most misunderstood, mind-blowing moments in human history.

Picture Jesus on that old rugged cross, bloodied and bruised, shouting a phrase that still echoes through the ages: "It is finished". Just three words, three syllables, yet they carry immense weight. On this Easter Sunday, many sermons will focus on Jesus completing His redemptive work, tying it up neatly. But what if there’s more? What if "It is finished" is an invitation to something bigger, wilder, than we’ve ever imagined?

Let’s dive into this story, a journey that will challenge assumptions and set your heart ablaze with the truth of what Jesus accomplished. This isn’t just about the forgiveness of sins—though that’s massive. This is about a cosmic victory over death itself, the fulfillment of ancient promises, and a demonstration of God’s fierce love that rewrote humanity’s story. 

Imagine this scene: the sky dark, the earth trembling, clouds rolling in. Jesus, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world, cries out with His final breath, "It is finished". For many, this signals the completion of redemption, the payment for sins. While that’s part of the story, it’s not the whole picture. Jesus’ work was just beginning to unfold. It wasn’t until He carried His blood into the heavenly Holy of Holies and sat at the Father’s right hand, as declared in Hebrews 10:12, that the full scope of our redemption was sealed.

So, what was finished? Jesus was announcing the end of the old covenant system—the Mosaic law, the priesthood, and the sacrifices. Born of Abraham’s line, circumcised, and raised under the law (Galatians 4:4), Jesus didn’t just live under this system; He fulfilled it perfectly. (Matthew 5:17). On the cross, He declared the old covenant done, its demands satisfied, and He opened up a new and living way.

Let’s go back to Genesis 12:2-3, where God promised Abraham, "I will bless you, make you a great nation, and through you, all the families of the earth will be blessed". This was no casual agreement but a blood covenant, sealed with sacrifice. The Hebrew word for covenant means “to cut,” reflecting the gravity of these agreements. When Israel received the law at Sinai (Exodus 20), it became the rulebook for the covenant. Yet, no one could keep it perfectly. God, in His mercy, provided a priesthood and sacrifices to cover—not erase—sin, as Hebrews 10:4 explains, since the blood of bulls and goats was only a temporary fix like a bandaid to a massive problem.

Enter Jesus, the seed of Abraham (Galatians 3:16), who lived a sinless life, embodying the law’s perfection. He didn’t just patch up the old system; He fulfilled and set it aside (Hebrews 8:13). The law, priesthood, and sacrifices were shadows pointing to Christ (Colossians 2:17). When He declared "It is finished", He closed the old covenant and ushered in the new covenant—His blood sealing a bond between the Father and humanity, bringing us into a new reality.

This new covenant, the covenant of Christ, is more than substitution; its vicarious representation. Jesus took us with Him to the cross, dying not just for us but as us, burying our old sin nature, and rising as us in resurrection power. He didn’t come to tweak behavior or stamp a ticket to heaven. He came to fix the root problem: death, introduced in Genesis 2:17 when God warned Adam and Eve that eating the forbidden fruit would bring death.

Death, not just sin, is the real enemy. Hebrews 2:14-15 tells us Jesus partook of flesh and blood to "render powerless him who had the power of death, that is, the devil, and free those who through fear of death were subject to slavery". Sin’s wages are death (Romans 6:23), but Jesus destroyed death’s power. Before the cross, He was already forgiving sins, as seen in Mark 2:5, when He told the paralyzed man, Son, your sins are forgiven. The cross wasn’t just about sin; it was about shattering death’s grip.

The early church obsessed over the resurrection because it proved death’s defeat. Paul wrote in 1 Corinthians 15:17, "If Christ has not been raised, your faith is worthless, and you are still in your sins". The empty tomb is the victory, validating our innocence and making us alive in Christ (Romans 6:4). We’re not just forgiven; we’re reconciled, innocent, whole, and delivered by trusting in the finished work of the cross, and as we realize that truth we find ourselves confessing He is Lord and believing God raised Jesus from the dead (Romans 10:9).

Western Christianity often focuses tightly on sin and the cross, but the Eastern church emphasizes the resurrection’s triumph over death. Both are true: the cross deals with guilt and shame; the resurrection gives life and crushes death. Jesus, the vicarious last Adam (2 Corinthians 5:21) took our sin, shame, sickness, and death, giving us His righteousness and life. His blood satisfied justice once and for all (Hebrews 9:12), and when He sat at the Father’s right hand (Hebrews 1:3), it was the ultimate mic drop—mission accomplished.

Even Caiaphas, the high priest, unknowingly prophesied this in John 11:47-52, declaring that one man’s death would save the nation and gather God’s children into one. When Israel’s leaders cried, "His blood be upon us", Jesus turned their curse into grace, His blood redeeming not just Israel but all humanity (Hebrews 9:15). His earthly ministry revealed the Father’s heart, His vicarious work on the cross sealed redemption (Hebrews 9:24), and now, as our high priest, He intercedes for us (Romans 8:34), empowering us for the greater works He said we would do.

Why believe this? Because of the disciples. Ordinary men, once cowering in fear, encountered the resurrected Christ and became unstoppable, each dying brutally for the truth. James was beheaded, Andrew crucified, Peter crucified upside down, Paul beheaded, and others tortured or killed—none recanted. Their unwavering faith, sealed by their deaths, is to me the greatest historical case for the resurrection. (See my old Easter blog "Why I Believe")

What does this mean for us? Freedom. Freedom from death’s fear, sin’s guilt, and the old covenant’s demands. "It is finished" declared the end of striving and the dawn of grace, life, and union with the Father. Jesus said in John 14:20, "I am in the Father, and you are in me, and I am in you". This Easter, lean into this truth: you’re not just forgiven—you’re innocent, alive in Christ, seated in heavenly places. Confess Jesus as Lord, believe in His resurrection, and step into a new reality where death is defeated, sin is forgiven, and the Father’s love is unstoppable.

Celebrate this holy week with joy. Dance in the freedom Jesus won. Tell the world and all your religious friends: "It is finished", and live like it’s true—because it is.

(Blog edited from the transcript of the Bill Vanderbush podcast titled: "It is Finished, Really!")

Sheep, Goats, Rich Men, and Beggars

Sheep, Goats, Rich Men, and Beggars

(The following is an edited condensed transcript of a teaching from Bill's online class called "The Table". To sign up to hear the expanded teaching as well as join us live every Monday night, go to billvanderbush.com.)

This study is all about engaging with the Word—both the letter and the Spirit. Both are a mystery, and both contain elements that are easily misunderstood apart from a renewed mind.

When I say “the Word,” I’m talking about Jesus, the living Word, and the Bible, the written Word. The Bible reveals Jesus; it doesn’t confine Him. If you view Scripture through the lens of law, Jesus remains concealed behind religious barriers. The Scriptures are one giant question, to which Jesus is ultimately the answer.

Consider the story of Jesus on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35). Two disciples, disheartened by Jesus’ death, walk with Him without recognizing Him. Their sorrow blinds them, even though the resurrected Son of God is with them for seven miles. Jesus reveals Himself through the law and the prophets—the Old Covenant Scriptures. Intrigued, they invite Him to dinner, and only when He breaks bread do they recognize Him. Then, He vanishes, knowing how to make an exit. This shows the nature of engaging with the Word: we often seek formulas or codes—who’s in, who’s out, how to get to heaven—when the reality is far more dynamic.

When Jesus rose and ascended, and the Holy Spirit fell in Acts 2, God became closer than the disciples ever imagined—not just near enough to touch, but dwelling within us. This changes our identity and relationship with God, our Father. Preaching the resurrection isn’t about a future event but a present reality. Circumstances often distract us from this power, pushing our hope to a future time with no present responsibility. I recall a lady in my childhood church saying, “The devil’s attacking me, but pray I’ll hold out till the end.” My dad called that an obituary, not a testimony. We live a testimony life, declaring what Jesus has done and the hope He gives daily. The written Word points to the living Word, and His Spirit within us resonates this truth. What an incredible life!

Yet, difficult Scriptures can make us question God’s goodness. We revert to His holiness, saying, “He’s holy, so He can do what He wants,” letting that shape our perspective. But Jesus reveals God’s true nature. He tells scary stories but lives a grace-filled life. For example, He said, “If you deny me before men, I will deny you before my Father” (Matthew 10:33)—an absolute statement. Yet, Peter, who denied Jesus three times (Luke 22:54-62), was restored by Jesus on a beach (John 21:15-19), with no condemnation. Jesus’ actions seem to overturn His own words, showing that God can extend grace beyond what we expect.

Grace is unearned and belongs to those who don’t deserve it. Jesus, the author of grace, demonstrates God’s character through it. On the cross, He took everyone dead in sin with Him (2 Corinthians 5:14; Ephesians 2:1-5), making us alive by His love. This grace isn’t for us to exploit but to recognize as the heart of God’s nature.

Chris Gore recently shared a story about someone asking if he was “just another grace preacher.” I thought, if only every Christian were a grace preacher, proclaiming God’s love meeting us at our worst, raising us to heavenly places (Ephesians 2:6). Ephesians 2:8-9 says, “By grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God.” Both grace and faith are gifts from God. We live in Christ, who is grace itself (1 Corinthians 1:30).

Now, let’s explore a challenging passage: the parable of the sheep and the goats in Matthew 25:31-46. It begins, “When the Son of Man comes in His glory, and all His angels with Him, then He will sit on His glorious throne. All the nations will be gathered before Him, and He will separate them one from another, as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats” (Matthew 25:31-32). The sheep, on His right, are told, “Come, you blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world” (Matthew 25:34), because they fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and visited the sick and imprisoned. The goats, on His left, are told, “Depart from Me, accursed ones, into eternal fire, which has been prepared for the devil and his angels” (Matthew 25:41), for failing to do these acts.

Both groups are surprised, asking, “Lord, when did we see You?” (Matthew 25:37-39, 44). The sheep don’t know they’re sheep, and the goats don’t know they’re goats. This challenges the Western evangelical focus on knowing you’re saved. Early theologians like Clement of Alexandria (150–215) saw this as a call to Christ-like love, Origen (185–254) as a contrast between divine wisdom and earthly selfishness, and John Chrysostom (347–407) as a lesson in compassion. Augustine of Hippo (354–430) saw it as universal judgement and tied it to works distinguishing the saved, but earlier views saw the fire as purifying, not punitive.

The Greek word for “punishment” in Matthew 25:46, kolasis, means pruning or correction for improvement, not eternal torment. “Nations” (ethnos) refers to people groups divided by ethnicity or systems. Jesus isn’t condemning entire nations but systems rooted in selfishness, not love. Satan, the accuser (kategoros), thrives on categorization—dividing by race, gender, nationality, or social status. Jesus prayed for unity in John 17:21, reflecting the Trinity’s love, rooted in the last Adam (1 Corinthians 15:45).

This parable dismantles division, urging us to love the least. In America, 43,000 denominations reflect our tendency to divide. King David’s census (2 Samuel 24) brought judgment for prideful division. God’s heart, seen in Psalm 23:5, is to prepare a table for enemies to discover they’re brothers. Jesus modeled this on the cross, loving those who cursed Him (Luke 23:34).

We seek love, but deeper, we seek to be love. This parable shows no selfish system will last; only love endures. Titus 2:11says, “The grace of God, bringing salvation, has appeared to all men,” teaching us to live righteously. Jesus’ command to “love one another as I have loved you” (John 13:34) excludes no one, even the proud, whom God opposes (James 4:6).

Early Christian art on tombs often depicted Jesus carrying both lambs and goats, symbolizing an incredible hope. The parable of the rich man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31) further illustrates this. Jesus targets the Pharisees, “who were lovers of money” (Luke 16:14), to confront their pride. The story begins, “There was a rich man who habitually dressed in purple and fine linen, joyously living in splendor every day. A poor man named Lazarus was laid at his gate, covered with sores and longing to be fed with crumbs which were falling from the rich man’s table. Besides, even the dogs were coming and licking his sores”(Luke 16:19-21). Both die: Lazarus is “carried away by the angels to Abraham’s bosom,” while the rich man, “in Hades, lifted up his eyes, being in torment” (Luke 16:22-23).

The rich man sees Lazarus with Abraham and begs, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me and send Lazarus so he may dip the tip of his finger in water and cool off my tongue, for I am in agony in this flame” (Luke 16:24). Abraham replies, “Child, remember that during your life you received good things, and likewise Lazarus bad things. Now he is being comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides, between you and us there is a great gulf fixed” (Luke 16:25-26). The rich man pleads for his brothers, but Abraham says, “They have Moses and the prophets; let them hear them” (Luke 16:29). The rich man insists, “No, Father Abraham, if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent,” but Abraham counters, “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, they will not be persuaded even if someone rises from the dead” (Luke 16:30-31).

This parable isn’t a diatribe on the afterlife but a cultural jab at the Pharisees’ pride. Jesus uses Hades, a Greek mythological underworld, and Abraham’s bosom, a Jewish concept, to provoke. Jews didn’t believe in heaven or hell as modern Christians do; they revered Abraham as their savior figure. By placing a rich Jew in Hades for wealth alone and a poor, unclean man in Abraham’s bosom for poverty, Jesus flips their values. The rich man’s request for Lazarus to touch his tongue—despite Lazarus’ sores—would disgust the Pharisees, as would his depiction of Abraham as powerless and indifferent. Jesus crafts each detail to infuriate, exposing their reliance on heritage over God’s love.

The parable’s climax points to Jesus Himself: “They will not be persuaded even if someone rises from the dead” (Luke 16:31). This foreshadows His resurrection, which the Pharisees will reject. In John 11:47-52, their reaction proves this: “The chief priests and the Pharisees convened the council, saying, ‘What are we doing? This man is performing many signs’” (John 11:47). Caiaphas prophesies, “It is expedient for you that one man die for the people so that the whole nation will not perish” (John 11:50), unknowingly declaring Jesus’ purpose: “to gather together into one the children of God who are scattered abroad” (John 11:52).

This parable challenges ethnic and social divisions, showing that pride in status—whether wealth or heritage—blinds us to God’s grace. The rich man’s fate in Hades isn’t eternal but a mirror to reflect the Pharisees’ self-righteousness. Jesus, the cornerstone, becomes their stumbling block (1 Peter 2:6-8), dismantling their categorizations to reveal a God who loves beyond boundaries, calling us to do the same.

In John 11:47-52, Caiaphas unwittingly prophesies Jesus’ death for the nation and to gather all into one. Jesus breaks down divisions (Ephesians 2:14), making one new man (2 Corinthians 5:17). His blood revalues us, declaring, “You are mine.”