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Let’s be honest: a lot of modern Christians would be absolutely scandalized if God actually did something.

Not talked about doing something. Not read about doing something. Not quoted Calvin quoting Augustine about something God used to do.

I mean actually did something. Miraculous. Unexplainable. Supernatural.

You know—like the kind of stuff that’s all over the Bible.

And yet, somehow, we’ve managed to cultivate a version of Christianity that expects nothing, risks nothing, and explains away everything unless it’s in a commentary.

Congratulations, Protestant world. In our quest to be sober-minded and theologically sound, we’ve become suspicious of anything that smells even remotely like divine power. We’ve become disciples of logic rather than lovers of the living God. We quote the creeds, sing the hymns, and sit under the Word—but functionally, we’ve built churches that run fine whether or not the Holy Spirit ever shows up.

We’ve gone from sola Scriptura to sola safe.

Yes, We Believe in the Resurrection—But Heaven Help Us if Someone Gets Healed

Here’s the absurdity: we’ll defend the virgin birth, the bodily resurrection, and Jesus walking on water like theological pit bulls. But if someone mentions an answered prayer for healing, a moment of providential guidance, or spiritual warfare that isn’t just metaphorical?

We squint suspiciously like someone just snuck in a Hillsong lyric.

But friend, you can’t be a Christian and deny the supernatural.

You believe in a talking serpent (Genesis 3), an axe head that floated (2 Kings 6), a prophet fed by birds (1 Kings 17), and a Savior who turned water into wine, calmed storms with a word, and walked out of a tomb.

The supernatural is not a fringe doctrine. It’s the operating system of redemptive history.

No, This Isn’t a Call to Go Full Charismatic

Before you start polishing your shofar or Googling the nearest prophetic dance ministry, let me be clear: I’m not advocating for the emotionally manipulative, apostolic title-waving, Holy Spirit-as-a-vibe theology that treats the third Person of the Trinity like an energy drink.

We’re not going to worship the Holy Spirit apart from the Triune God. We’re not going to chase spiritual experiences like addicts at a revival buffet. We’re not going to trade reformed theology for charismatic chaos.

But we are going to ask this: Have we thrown out too much in our quest for order?

Have we grieved the Spirit—not through wildfire—but through cold indifference? Have we become so afraid of being wrong that we’ve stopped expecting God to do anything at all?

Let’s Talk About the God We Say We Believe In

He speaks. Not just spoke. Speaks. Through His Word, yes. But also through providence, conviction, wisdom, and circumstances that make no human sense.
He heals. Not on command, not through a TV screen—but yes, still heals.
He leads. Tangibly. Sovereignly. Even when we don’t understand how.
He delivers. From real evil. Not just metaphorical vibes.
He empowers. Through the Word, by the Spirit, for the Church.

"For the kingdom of God does not consist in talk but in power." — 1 Corinthians 4:20

We’ve done a lot of talking. Maybe it’s time we started asking what power looks like when it’s tethered to truth.

Because the early church didn’t grow by clever outlines and tidy doctrine statements (though they had both). It grew by the Spirit of God working through the Word of God in real, palpable, powerful ways.

And we’ve largely forgotten that.

So here’s the question this blog will unpack: Why have Protestants, especially Reformed ones, distanced ourselves from the supernatural activity of God—and what have we lost because of it?

We’ll trace the history. Expose the overcorrections. Reclaim the balance. And call our churches—not to emotionalism—but to expectancy.

Because God has not changed. The Spirit has not retired. And the Word has not lost its fire.

Ready? Let’s dig in.

What We Confess vs. What We Actually Believe

Let’s have a little family meeting. Reformed table. No charismatic crashers. Just us, our confessions, and a mirror.

Here’s the paradox: we confess some of the most earth-shaking, cosmos-defying truths in the universe—truths that demand awe, humility, and trembling faith.

But when it comes to living like those things are actually true?

We often act like functional atheists in Sunday-best theology.

We Say We Believe in...

1. The Resurrection of the Dead

That one day, graves will split open.
That sinews and marrow and dust will reassemble.
That souls will reunite with glorified bodies at the trumpet sound.

But we get uncomfortable if someone prays with confidence for a migraine to go away. "God doesn’t work that way anymore." Oh? But raising billions from the dead is still on the docket?

2. The Presence and Power of the Holy Spirit

He dwells in believers.
He intercedes with groanings too deep for words (Romans 8:26).
He convicts, comforts, and empowers.

But He better not show up too obviously—or someone might start clapping during the second verse of the doxology.

3. Angels and Demons

We believe in principalities, powers, and spiritual forces of darkness (Ephesians 6:12).
We know angels minister to God’s people (Hebrews 1:14).

But if someone says they’ve experienced spiritual oppression or answered prayer that defies coincidence? We smile, nod, and mentally prescribe them a nap.

4. Prayer That Moves Heaven

We claim to believe that the prayer of a righteous man has great power (James 5:16).
We quote Spurgeon on prayer like it’s a spiritual cheat code.

But in practice? We pray like we’re giving God a status update. Just in case He missed our calendar invites.

“Lord, if You want to... if You’re not too busy... if it’s in Your will, and only if nothing else is going on, maybe… bless this vaguely spiritual endeavor.”

Where’s the fire? Where’s the faith?

What We Actually Believe (Based on Our Behavior)

Let’s be blunt. The typical Protestant—especially the frozen-chosen variety—functions like this:

God did miracles in the Bible to prove a point. But He doesn’t need to anymore.
The Holy Spirit indwells us... as a quiet roommate who never makes a mess or says anything unexpected.
Spiritual warfare? Mostly just bad moods, right?
Prayer changes things? Eh. Let’s not get weird.

We build systems. We study theology. We define everything. And then we sterilize our faith until it’s so safe, God Himself wouldn’t need to show up for the church service to go off without a hitch.

The Disconnect is Spiritual Hypocrisy (With a Doctrinal Badge)

We’re not talking about minor inconsistencies. This is a full-blown contradiction:

We preach that God is transcendent, sovereign, omnipotent...
...and then live like He’s mostly theoretical, passive, and disinterested in doing anything today.

If someone in your church came forward and said, “I felt the Spirit clearly guide me this week,” would your reaction be:

A) “Praise God. What did He make clear to you?” B) “Okay but how do you know it was the Spirit?”

(If you picked B, congrats—you’ve been catechized by Enlightenment skepticism, not the book of Acts.)

We Have a System for Everything—Except Expectancy

We’ve got:

Five points of Calvinism
Three forms of unity
Five solas (okay, fine, five plus one depending on your camp…Ecclesia, Caritas or Spiritus)
A precision theology that could out-categorize a library card catalog

But where’s our category for a God who does what He pleases in heaven and on earth (Psalm 115:3)?

Where’s the room for saying:

“I don’t know how to explain it... but the Lord made it unmistakably clear.”
“The Spirit convicted me in a way that stopped me mid-sin.”
“God provided in a way that defies spreadsheet logic.”

You don’t need to become a mystic. You just need to stop acting like God needs your permission to be present.

Our Orthodoxy is Spotless—But Our Expectancy is Starving

We’ve inherited glorious truth.

But we live like deists with a dusty systematic theology.

It’s time to confess—not just our sins—but our suspicion of God’s presence.

Because we say we believe in a living, active, reigning Christ.

It’s about time we started living like it.

III. How We Got Here: A Short (Snarky) History

Let’s not pretend we arrived at this sanitized, predictable, Holy-Spirit-on-a-leash version of Protestantism by accident. There’s a reason many modern Christians can’t imagine a God who heals, speaks, or interrupts. It’s not just that we’re skeptical. It’s that we were trained to be.

So buckle up, theologians and pew-sitters alike. We’re taking a scenic tour of how the supernatural got sidelined in the name of "respectability" and "sound doctrine." Spoiler: sometimes we confused being cautious with being faithless.

1. The Reformation: From Fire to Frameworks

The Protestant Reformation (1517 and onward) was a Holy Spirit–driven explosion of truth. Luther, Calvin, Zwingli, and others recovered the authority of Scripture, justification by faith, and the priesthood of all believers.

But in reacting to Roman Catholic superstition—saint veneration, relics, miracle-mongering, and a bloated sacramental system—our theological forefathers rightly corrected abuses... and sometimes overcorrected into suspicion.

Luther still believed in spiritual warfare and miracles—he famously threw an inkpot at the devil (metaphorically or literally, depending on your sources).
Calvin, though cautious, affirmed God’s providence as mysteriously active, stating: “God by a sudden act rescues his servants, even when they are not thinking of escape.” (Commentary on Acts 12)

But slowly, the Reformation’s vibrant trust in God’s living power was traded for increasingly tidy systems.

It started with good motives: fight false miracles, exalt the Word.

It ended with: If it’s not in the confessions or commentaries, it probably didn’t happen.

2. The Enlightenment: Enter the Age of Skepticism (a.k.a. The Funeral for Mystery)

Then came the Enlightenment (17th–18th centuries): rationalism, empiricism, and a general suspicion of anything that couldn’t be weighed, measured, or poked with a stick.

Christianity, eager to stay culturally relevant, started absorbing the vibe.

Miracles? Outdated.
Angels and demons? Maybe allegorical.

By the 1800s, even many pastors and theologians were trying to preserve the moral teachings of Scripture while quietly backing away from the miraculous. Thomas Jefferson literally cut all the miracles out of his Bible. Modernists applauded. Jesus was reduced to a moral example, not a wonder-working Savior.

Reformed churches didn’t go full liberal, but we did inhale some of the fumes:

Doctrine became the only acceptable category of truth.
The supernatural became suspicious.
The Holy Spirit became a footnote.

3. The Rise of Cessationism: Good Intentions, Dangerous Fallout

Cessationism—the belief that certain miraculous gifts (like tongues, prophecy, healing) ceased with the apostles—found a home especially in Reformed and dispensational circles.

Now, to be fair:

The early church fathers do note a decline in the more charismatic gifts over time.
Scripture does point to the apostles having a unique, foundational role (Ephesians 2:20).
Paul’s own letters distinguish between temporary and permanent functions.

So, okay—some restraint is biblically sound.

But what started as an argument about apostolic gifts became, in practice, a denial of anything that smelled supernatural.

We didn’t just put boundaries on prophecy.

We:

Started doubting any form of spiritual guidance.
Downplayed testimonies of healing or deliverance.
Treated any God-intervention story like it belonged on TBN.

We wanted to avoid charismatic chaos. Instead, we created charismatic vacuum.

4. The Charismatic Movement: Fuel for the Overcorrection

Enter the 20th century Pentecostal and Charismatic movements.

Azusa Street (1906): tongues, prophecy, healings.
Charismatic revivals sweep through churches worldwide.

And with them? Plenty of excess:

Emotionalism.
False prophecies.
Pastor-as-shaman spiritual abuse.

So what did Reformed folk do?

Instead of saying, “Let’s examine this biblically,” we said, “Shut it all down.”
Instead of discerning, we distanced.

We started defining spiritual maturity as how little you expect God to do.

The gifts of the Spirit were replaced with a doctrine of suspicion.

5. Modern Evangelicalism: Machine, Meet Program

Today, many churches—especially the well-ordered, liturgically sound, doctrinally tight kind—look more like well-oiled lecture halls than places where the God of Sinai is feared.

We:

Program everything.
Script everything.
Predict everything.

And in the name of “decency and order,” we’ve removed any space for divine interruption.

What started as a noble desire to guard the truth has calcified into a subconscious belief that God simply won’t act beyond the liturgy.

Summary: From Holy Fire to Hollow Formalism

The Reformation recovered the truth.
The Enlightenment rationalized the truth.
Cessationism contained the truth.
Charismatic abuse scared us away from the truth.
And now? We’ve got churches where God could part the ceiling and we’d file an incident report instead of worshiping.

Let’s be blunt: we’ve inherited a skeptical reflex that treats the supernatural as suspicious—even though it’s everywhere in Scripture.

And it’s time to unlearn it.

The Supernatural is Not a Charismatic Toy—It’s a Biblical Reality

Let’s set the record straight: the supernatural doesn’t belong to charismatics. It doesn’t belong to Bethel. It doesn’t belong to the guy with the YouTube ministry and a fog machine fetish.

It belongs to God—and it’s been in His Word since page one.

If your only framework for the supernatural is “that weird stuff charismatics do,” then your problem isn’t theological accuracy—it’s biblical illiteracy dressed up in doctrinal pride.

Because the Bible isn’t shy about the supernatural. God doesn’t ask your permission to act beyond your sermon outline.

Scripture Isn’t Embarrassed by the Supernatural—You Are

Let’s take a quick (incomplete) inventory:

Creation from nothing — Genesis 1
Fire from heaven — 1 Kings 18
Axe head floats — 2 Kings 6
Donkey speaks — Numbers 22
Shadows heal — Acts 5:15
Earthquakes break open prison doors — Acts 16:26
Jesus walks on water, heals the blind, and calls Lazarus out of a tomb after four days.

That’s not charismatic chaos—that’s biblical Christianity.

We didn’t invent the supernatural. We just started treating it like it’s a liability instead of a testimony.

Reformed Theology is Supernatural by Nature

The doctrines we cherish are soaked in the supernatural:

Regeneration – You think the dead-in-sin human heart revives itself with catechism and coffee? No. It’s a miracle (John 3:3–8).
Justification – God declares guilty sinners righteous through faith. Not natural.
Sanctification – The Spirit transforms us day by day into the likeness of Christ. That’s not moral self-help. That’s resurrection power at work (Romans 8:11).
Providence – God ordains every atom’s movement, every hair on your head, every so-called coincidence in your life. That’s not mechanical fate. That’s supernatural orchestration.

If you believe in any of this, you already believe in a supernatural God. Stop acting allergic to His presence.

We’ve Confused Reverence with Rigidity

Order is good. Exegesis is essential. Reverence is right.

But if your “order” has squeezed out any room for the Spirit to convict, redirect, reveal, or astonish—you’re not reverent. You’re rigid.

You’re the guy who shouts “Sola Scriptura!” and then quietly ignores half the stories in Scripture.

We don’t need emotional hype. We need holy expectation—rooted in the Word, empowered by the Spirit, centered on Christ.

So What Is the Supernatural, Biblically Speaking?

Not what the televangelists are peddling. Not your spine tingling during a worship bridge. Not vague affirmations like, “God told me to upgrade my phone.”

The supernatural is when God acts in, through, or around His people in ways that:

Cannot be explained apart from Him,
Align with His revealed Word,
And exalt His name, not ours.

Supernatural doesn’t mean chaotic. It means transcendent.

The early church didn’t just teach theology. They prayed, fasted, believed, and obeyed with a holy fear that God might actually show up.

We’ve swapped that for predictable liturgies and safe sermons.

What Does This Mean For You?

It means you should:

Pray like heaven actually listens (James 5:16–18).
Expect God to move—but never outside the guardrails of Scripture.
Stop mocking what you haven’t studied.
Stop fearing what you can’t explain.

And for the love of all things doctrinal: Don’t let heretics have a monopoly on hunger for the presence of God.

Don’t Abandon the Spirit to Avoid the Circus

If your only reason for rejecting the supernatural is fear of becoming “one of those churches,” you’re already in error.

The solution to wildfire is not a fireproof church. It’s a well-tended flame (2 Timothy 1:6).

So light it. Tend it. Pray like it matters. Live like God is alive.

And remember: the God of Scripture is still the God who parts seas, breaks chains, opens wombs, closes mouths, speaks through donkeys, and silences storms.

He’s not a toy. He’s not your emotional crutch. He’s holy, active, and sovereign.

And He’s still in the business of making Himself known.

What We Miss When We Dismiss the Supernatural

Let’s clear the air one more time: this isn’t a pitch for Charismania.

I’m not inviting prophetic flag twirlers into your sanctuary. I’m not saying you need to have a gold dust ministry. I’m not affirming emotionalism, manufactured hype, or rogue declarations that make God sound like your personal genie.

What I am saying is this:

When you strip the supernatural from your theology, you’re not just protecting doctrine. You’re shrinking your God.

You’re not preserving reverence—you’re preserving distance.

You’re not defending orthodoxy—you’re quietly denying that the God you read about is the God you walk with.

We Read the Wildest Book in the World… And Yawn

Your Bible is jam-packed with:

Sea-splitting wonders
Prophets calling down fire
Prison-breaking earthquakes
Dead men walking
Talking animals
Divine interventions
Spiritual warfare
Unshakable faith

And yet... many of us treat it like an ancient newsletter. We memorize the Greek and Hebrew while bracing ourselves for nothing more than moral improvement.

"We worship the God who is Most High—not the God who used to be Most High."

If we believe these stories as history, but don’t believe that same God is alive and able to act today, then what exactly are we worshiping?

A memory? A doctrine? A theological mascot?

Dismissing the Supernatural Drains the Church of Its Wonder

Without a living expectancy of God’s supernatural work:

Prayer becomes polite.
- Less “boldly approach the throne” and more “leave a voicemail with the receptionist.”
Worship becomes performance.
- A well-rehearsed set list. No encounter. No awe.
Preaching becomes information transfer.
- No trembling. No brokenness. No power. Just exegesis on cruise control.
The Christian life becomes manageable.
- As long as you have a planner and a podcast, you’re good.

In other words: you’ve got church without Christ’s active presence. And that’s terrifying.

“Having the appearance of godliness, but denying its power.” — 2 Timothy 3:5

Sound familiar?

What We Miss:

1. We Miss the Fear of the Lord

The God of Scripture makes men fall on their faces.
Angels announce His messages with terror, not TED Talk pacing.
The supernatural reminds us that God is not safe. But He is good.

2. We Miss the Joy of Expectation

Christians who believe God can do the impossible live with lighter feet.
Prayer becomes a battlefield, not a box-checking ritual.
Obedience becomes thrilling, not draining.

3. We Miss the Power of the Gospel Itself

The new birth isn’t a metaphor—it’s a supernatural act.
Conviction, repentance, regeneration—none of this is explainable apart from the Spirit.
When we dismiss the supernatural, we downplay salvation itself.

You Were Made to Worship the God Who Still Does

This isn’t about chasing miracles. It’s about refusing to follow Christ with your eyes closed.

You’re not worshiping a footnote of God. You’re not honoring a shadow of Yahweh. You’re not giving glory to a theological theory.

You are bowing before the living, active, eternal, untamable God Most High.

The One who thundered from Sinai.
The One who raised dry bones.
The One who walked on water.
The One who crushed death with His heel.

He is not a tame lion. And when you dismiss His power—you don’t get a safer version of Christianity. You get a powerless one.

What’s the Point of Head Knowledge Without Holy Awe?

If you’ve got the Reformed confessions memorized but can’t remember the last time your heart trembled in prayer, something’s wrong.

We need:

Truth and power.
Doctrine and expectancy.
Word and Spirit.

We’re not called to worship from the neck up. We’re called to worship in spirit and truth (John 4:24).

Let’s stop building doctrinal cages for the Lion of Judah. Let’s stop reducing the living God to a set of well-structured sentences. Let’s stop acting like He used to be amazing—but now He’s mostly interested in quiet services and safe sermons.

Because He can do what He’s done before. He may not do it in the same way. He may not do it when we demand.

But He can. And He still does.

Reformed and Charismatic Aren’t Enemies—But We’ve Acted Like They Are

Let’s talk family dynamics.

In the Body of Christ, there’s a long-standing feud between two siblings:

One quotes dead theologians.
The other waves flags in church.

And both roll their eyes at the other like it’s Thanksgiving dinner and someone just brought up politics.

But here’s the hard truth: many of us in the Reformed camp have treated Charismatics like the embarrassing cousins of Christianity—"technically family, but we’d rather not talk about it." And in doing so, we’ve created a divide where unity should have existed—not in doctrine, but in dignity.

Let’s be clear right out of the gate:

I Am Not Affirming Charismatic Doctrine

I reject the "new revelation" crowd that adds to Scripture.
I reject the emotionalism that confuses tears and goosebumps with the Holy Spirit.
I reject the worship of the Holy Spirit divorced from the Trinity, as if He’s some kind of divine hype man instead of the third Person of the Godhead.
I reject "apostolic authority" claims that masquerade as spiritual manipulation.

But here’s what I also won’t do:

I won’t throw every Spirit-loving, Bible-believing, Jesus-exalting Charismatic under the heresy bus.
I won’t act like God can’t move through people who lift their hands when they sing.
And I absolutely won’t pretend that Reformed churches have the Holy Spirit monopoly just because we know Latin phrases and can parse Greek verbs.

If They Worship the Triune God, They’re Our Family

Let’s draw the line biblically:

If they deny the Trinity (e.g., Oneness Pentecostals), we are not in the same faith. That’s heresy, not a stylistic difference.
If they affirm the Gospel, the Trinity, the authority of Scripture, and salvation by grace through faith—they are our brothers and sisters.

We don’t have to agree on secondary issues to recognize family resemblance. And frankly, some Charismatics love Jesus with a joy and expectancy that puts our stiff pew-sitting to shame.

Why the Divide?

Because excesses scare us. Because abuse makes us cautious. Because we’ve seen wildfire and decided the solution is to douse everything in water.

And look, the abuses are real:

Gold dust “miracles”
Barking in the Spirit
Declaring nonsense “in Jesus’ name” like it’s a magic spell

We should call that stuff out. But we shouldn’t become so reactionary that we deny the biblical and beautiful work of the Spirit in the lives of real believers.

What If We Need Each Other?

What if Charismatics need grounding in the Word—and we need awakening by the Spirit?
What if they need correction, and we need conviction?
What if they’ve seen the power of God at work—and we’ve grown suspicious He even shows up anymore?

You don’t have to share their ecclesiology to appreciate their hunger. You don’t have to match their fervor to examine your own deadness.

We’ve built camps. They’ve built bonfires. Maybe it’s time we asked why they’re warm and we’re cold.

The Goal: Discernment, Not Distance

We need to:

Embrace the supernatural within the boundaries of Scripture.
Stay grounded in truth while remaining open to God’s providential work.
Speak clearly against error while honoring those who sincerely walk with Christ—even if they lift their hands a little higher than we do.

“Test everything; hold fast what is good.” — 1 Thessalonians 5:21

Let’s test—not trash. Let’s correct—not cancel. Let’s engage—not exile.

Because we’re going to spend eternity with believers who speak in tongues and those who speak in creeds. The question is: can we walk in unity before we walk on streets of gold?

So What Do We Do Now?

We’ve diagnosed the problem:

We’ve downplayed the supernatural.
We’ve sterilized our theology.
We’ve grown comfortable with a Christianity that’s doctrinally correct but spiritually comatose.

So what now? What does it look like to reclaim a biblical expectation of the supernatural—without spiraling into chaos, emotionalism, or charismatic confusion?

This is not a call to abandon our Reformed convictions. It’s a call to actually live like they’re true.

Here’s where we start.

1. Repent for Making God Manageable

Start here. Drop the pride.

If your Christianity has been all head and no heart, all order and no awe—confess that.

Repent for doubting God’s power.
Repent for mocking others who believe He still moves.
Repent for treating the Holy Spirit like a silent partner in the Trinity.

"They have a zeal for God, but not according to knowledge." — Romans 10:2

Our issue is often the opposite: we have knowledge of God, but not according to awe.

2. Ask God to Reawaken Your Expectation

You won’t see the supernatural if you don’t ask for eyes to see.

Pray:

“Lord, give me faith to believe You’re still active.”
“Help me expect You to work in my life—not just in history.”
“Remind me that prayer actually matters.”

God delights in answering prayers that bring us closer to His presence.

"Call to Me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known." — Jeremiah 33:3

3. Immerse Yourself in Scripture—But Don’t Muzzle It

Reformed believers love the Word. Good.

Now believe what it says.

Stop treating every miraculous account like it needs a rational footnote.

Don’t flatten the book of Acts into a historical oddity.
Don’t reduce the Psalms to poetic metaphors.
Don’t explain away the power of God with theological fine print.

You don’t need a new revelation. You need to believe the one you already have.

4. Cultivate a Church Culture of Expectancy, Not Excess

Lead with:

The authority of Scripture
Sound doctrine
Christ-centered worship

But also:

Make room for God to move.
Create space in your services and your small groups for real prayer, real repentance, real guidance.

Expect God to:

Convict
Comfort
Provide
Intervene
Heal
Save

...on His terms, not yours.

5. Teach Your People to Discern, Not Dismiss

Equip the saints to:

Test the spirits (1 John 4:1)
Measure experiences by the Word
Guard against sensationalism
Recognize true spiritual fruit (Galatians 5:22–23)

Discernment isn’t about saying “no” to everything weird. It’s about saying “yes” only to what is holy.

6. Model Bold, Reverent Faith

Pastor, elder, dad, friend—this part’s for you:

Your people are watching. If you live like God is distant, passive, and unengaged, they will too.

Pray like you believe God listens.
Preach like heaven is breaking through.
Worship like the Spirit is present.
Lead like Christ is coming soon.

We’ve Tamed the Lion of Judah—Now Let’s Let Him Roar

You don’t need less theology. You need more faith. You don’t need to lower your standards. You need to raise your expectations.

Reformed theology has never been opposed to the supernatural. It’s built on it:

A sovereign God.
A risen Christ.
An active Spirit.

So act like it.

God still speaks—through His Word. God still leads—by His providence. God still works—by His Spirit.

And the world needs to see Christians who actually believe that.