As a prayer line associate with the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association, I hear from people every day who are desperate for God to act. They’re hurting, afraid, hopeful, angry, faithful, and exhausted—sometimes all at once. And so often, their requests for prayers sound less like surrender and more like transactions.

“If I say the right words…
If I pray hard enough…
If I believe strongly enough…
Then God has to do this for me.”

I understand where that comes from. Pain makes us want certainty. Fear makes us want control. But over time, I began to notice how easily God can be treated like a vending machine—put in the correct prayer, press the right button, and out comes the exact answer we’re hoping for. The expectation isn’t just that God can act, but that He must act, and must do so on our terms.

Having these conversations started to do something uncomfortable inside me. They didn’t just reveal how others saw God—they forced me to look at my own faith. My own prayers. My own expectations. I had to ask myself a question I didn’t really want to ask:

If God doesn’t do the specific thing I want Him to do… Is it still enough for me to just know Jesus?

That question brings me to Colossians 3:1-11.

“Since then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.  Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires, and greed, which is idolatry. Because of these, the wrath of God is coming.  You used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived.  But now you must also rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips. Do not lie to each other, since you have taken off your old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge in the image of its Creator.  Here, there is no Gentile or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave or free, but Christ is all, and is in all.

.”

Paul doesn’t tell us to earn something we don’t yet have. He starts with since. Since you have been raised. Since your life is now “hidden with Christ in God.” That phrase stops me every time. Hidden. Secure. Held. Complete.

When Paul talks about putting old things to death, it isn’t about striving to become acceptable to God. It’s about letting go of what no longer fits who we already are. Our behavior flows from our identity, not the other way around. Knowing Jesus as Lord and Savior isn’t the first step toward fullness—it is fullness.

This truth echoes an ancient refrain from the Dayenu, the traditional Jewish song sung during Passover. Dayenu means, “It would have been enough.” If God had only brought Israel out of Egypt—Dayenu (It would have been enough.). If He had only parted the sea—Dayenu.  If He had only sustained them in the wilderness—Dayenu.

The song keeps naming miracle after miracle, not because God should have stopped, but to make the point that any one of those acts would have been enough to trust Him. Dayenu isn’t about settling for less. It’s about recognizing how much we’ve already been given.

And yet, this is where faith often becomes uncomfortable. We want God to keep proving Himself—especially in ways that make sense to us. That tension comes into sharp focus in The Chosen, when Jesus says to Judas in Season 5, Episode 4:

“If I don’t do whatever big thing you’ve imagined that I should do at this time, will you still believe?”

That question doesn’t belong only to Judas. It lands squarely on me.

If God doesn’t answer the prayer the way I hoped…
If Jesus doesn’t move on my timeline…
If faith looks quieter, slower, or more ordinary than I expected…

Will I still believe?

Colossians keeps pulling me back to this grounding truth: Jesus is not a means to an end. HE IS THE END. Paul goes on to say that in this new life there is no Greek or Jew, circumcised or uncircumcised, slave or free—“but Christ is all, and is in all.” Christ is all. Not Christ plus success. Not Christ plus certainty. Not Christ plus the outcome that I think should happen.

Just Christ alone.

Later in his life, Paul says it even more plainly in Philippians 3:8:

“I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.”

After everything Paul had accomplished, lost, suffered, and endured, this is where he landed. Knowing Jesus outweighed everything else. Even the good things. Even the things that once defined him.

I hear that same settled confidence in SEU Worship’s “What a God.” (A modern-day Dayenu.) The song doesn’t rush toward what God might do next. It simply stands in awe of who He already is. It’s worship that doesn’t demand spectacle—it rests in the knowledge that Christ is all we need. 

And maybe that’s what faith is meant to grow into.

If God never does another dramatic thing in my lifetime, Dayenu.
If believing in Jesus means trusting Him without the “big thing” I imagined—Dayenu.
If all I have is Christ—Dayenu.

Because my life is hidden with Him.
Because knowing Him is of surpassing worth.
Because Jesus Himself is enough.