The power of dependence on God 

There’s something utterly freeing about reaching the end of yourself. In the Kingdom of God, what the world calls weakness, God calls strength. It’s one of those upside-down truths that Jesus lived and taught, and it continues to confront us with its quiet, radical power. You see, dependence on God isn’t a fallback position for when we’ve run out of our own clever ideas—it’s the place of true power, of deep communion, and of the Spirit’s richest work.

I remember how, early in my journey with the Lord, I tried so hard to do things for Him. I wanted to serve, to lead, to preach, to see lives changed. All of that desire was sincere, but I was trying to carry it in my own strength. I thought if I just prayed more, studied harder, worked longer, I could bring the Kingdom in. But that’s not how Jesus operated, and it’s not how He’s called us to walk.

Jesus said, "Truly I tell you, the Son can do nothing by himself; he can do only what he sees his Father doing" (John 5:19, NIV). That should stop us in our tracks. If the sinless Son of God, full of the Spirit, walked in daily dependence on the Father—never presuming, never rushing ahead—then how much more should we?

When I started Vineyard, it wasn’t because I had a great plan. It wasn’t slick or strategic. It was simply that I felt God nudging me, and I obeyed, trembling. And the more I leaned into Him, the more I saw His power at work in ways that were clearly not about my ability or charisma. Healings, salvations, marriages restored—all in response to simple, dependent obedience. We often say, “Come, Holy Spirit,” but that’s not a magical phrase. It’s a heart posture. It’s a cry of dependence.

In the Western world, and especially here in the UK, we pride ourselves on independence. We admire the self-made man, the capable woman. But the Gospel cuts across that. It reminds us we were never meant to be self-sufficient. That kind of independence isolates us from God’s life. The more we strive to be enough on our own, the more we miss the grace that flows when we admit, “I can’t do this without You.”

Paul understood this deeply. He wrote, “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me” (2 Corinthians 12:9, NIV). That’s the paradox. When we boast in our weakness—not in a morbid or self-pitying way, but in truth and humility—we become conduits for divine power.

There have been times in my ministry when I had nothing left—emotionally, spiritually, physically. I remember once being scheduled to preach just after losing someone dear. I had no message, no clarity. But I turned up anyway and whispered a prayer: “Lord, I’ve got nothing—You’ll have to do it.” And He did. The presence of God came, not through eloquence but through raw dependence.

The early church lived this way. They didn’t have influence or strategy. They had the Holy Spirit. They had faith. And they had a deep, abiding reliance on Jesus. That’s what turned the world upside down.

If we’re going to see the Church rise in power again—not in domination, but in compassion, mercy, and authority—it will be because we’ve returned to that place of dependence. Not just in crisis, but as a daily rhythm. Prayer becomes not a duty but a lifeline. Worship becomes not a performance but a surrender. Obedience becomes not a burden but a joy.

I want to encourage you today: stop trying to be strong. Let yourself lean on God. Tell Him, “I don’t have what it takes, but I trust You do.” That’s the soil in which miracles grow. That’s the pathway of the Spirit. And in that place, you’ll find that His yoke truly is easy, and His burden really is light.