Conquerors: The Spirit that Heaven Recognizes

I can feel it even as I write—there’s a weight on this. Not the weight of performance, not the weight of “trying to sound spiritual,” but that holy gravity that comes when the Lord is actually in what’s being released. And I’m asking you, as you read: don’t take my word for it. Don’t get swept up in emotion alone. Lay it against Scripture. Let the Spirit of God bear witness to what is true, and let everything else fall to the ground.

Because what I’m about to say is simple… but it’s also profound:

Heaven is calling for conquerors again.

Not tomorrow. Not ten years from now when you’ve “arrived.” Not after you fix everything you think disqualifies you.

Now.

And I’m convinced many believers treat the phrase “more than conquerors” like it’s a poster for the future—something we’ll grow into one day when we’re stronger, cleaner, more mature, more consistent, more… whatever.

But the Spirit keeps pressing this into me:

That word was never meant to be distant. It was meant to be lived.

“We are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.” That’s not a motivational slogan. That’s a spiritual identity written in blood—sealed by the torn veil, the cross, the resurrection, and the Spirit poured out on Pentecost.

And here’s the shift I can’t get away from:

The conqueror under the Old Covenant and the conqueror under the New Covenant don’t look the same.

Yes—there were conquerors in the Old Testament. Giants fell. Walls came down. Armies fled. Territories were taken. And every one of those stories matters.

But I’m telling you: the conquering spirit was transformed under the New Covenant.

The Old Covenant preserved a lineage and pointed toward a Person. It paved a road from Adam to Christ—through warfare, obedience, endurance, and covenantal preservation. Conquerors were needed at every turn, because the promise had to survive.

But when Christ died… something happened in the unseen realm that the spiritual authorities did not anticipate.

The veil tore from top to bottom.

The earth shook.

Rocks split.

Tombs opened.

Death was humiliated.

Hell was plundered.

And Jesus didn’t just win a moment—He won access. He won authority. He won a new way of living.

And now, under the New Covenant, the conquering spirit isn’t primarily displayed through the outward victory of a sword.

It’s displayed through the inward victory of surrender.

And that’s why a New Testament conqueror is terrifying to hell.

Because the New Testament conqueror has stopped living for self-preservation and started living for the mandate of heaven.

Here is what the conquerors of both covenants had in common: they surrendered their lives to God.

Not casually. Not selectively. Not “God, you can have this part but don’t touch that part.”

Surrender is the doorway. And I’ve believed this for a long time:

Unless your whole life is surrendered to God, you will not hear His voice clearly.

And if you can’t hear His voice clearly, you’ll keep trying to conquer life with human strength—using human logic, human reaction, human emotion, human survival instincts.

But if you can hear the Father…

You’ll walk like Jesus walked.

And Jesus did everything through hearing the Father, and hearing Him alone.

That’s the problem today: too many voices. Too many opinions. Too many narratives. Too many distractions dressed up as urgency.

And the Holy Spirit keeps calling us back to one sacred posture:

“Get lower.”

If you want to hear Him, get lower.

If you want freedom, get lower.

If you want clarity, get lower.

If you want power that doesn’t corrupt you, get lower.

Because the conquering spirit in the New Covenant isn’t a chest-out pride; it’s a bowed-down yieldedness that makes room for Christ to live His life through you.

And when Christ lives through you, you become what Scripture already declared:

More than a conqueror.

Not because you’re impressive. But because you’re inhabited.

“It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me.”

That line is not poetry. It’s the blueprint.

Look at the apostles.

Before Pentecost—so many of them were weak, confused, reactive, fearful. Peter couldn’t even hold his nerve near a fire. They argued over status. They misunderstood Christ. They panicked.

Then Pentecost came.

And what happened?

They didn’t just receive goosebumps. They didn’t just receive a worship moment.

They received a conquering Spirit.

And suddenly those same men who once shook with fear stood before multitudes with a holy authority that wasn’t manufactured.

Thousands were saved.

Demons fled.

Cities were disrupted.

And the gospel advanced not through charisma, but through surrender and Spirit-empowerment.

So I have to ask it plainly:

Is the Holy Spirit operating in your life?

Not as a doctrine.

Not as a theological box.

But as living fire—leading you, correcting you, strengthening you, pushing you out of self and into obedience.

Because the New Testament conqueror is not self-powered.

The New Testament conqueror is Spirit-infused.

And I feel the Lord pressing this even as I write: some of you are reading this with pressure on your mind, pressure on your finances, pressure on your body, pressure in your family, pressure in your calling.

And the enemy has been whispering the same lie again and again:

“This is proof you’re losing.”

But I’m telling you what I believe heaven is saying:

Pressure isn’t always proof you’re losing. Sometimes it’s proof you’re close.

Sometimes the resistance is not rejection—it’s confirmation that something is about to break.

And I’m going to say it like I’d say it in a room full of people:

Put your hand on your heart.

Lord, break the spirit of fear.

Lord, break the spirit of weariness.

Lord, break the spirit of heaviness.

Lord, release the conquering mentality of the New Covenant—where Christ lives in us and through us.

And I declare: miracles are not locked away in Bible times. They accompany the preaching of the Word because You said they would.

The Lord has been schooling me again on divine assignments.

I’ll be honest—people assume ministers are naturally outgoing. Some are. But I’m not wired that way in the natural. Yet I’ve learned something: when the mandate of heaven comes on you, it will push you beyond your temperament.

Recently I had to go through medical testing—long hours, waiting rooms, strangers, anxious faces, people carrying fear they can’t even name.

And before I went, I said, “Lord, what do You want me to do today?”

And it was like the Spirit answered plainly:

“You’re going to talk to all of them.”

So I did.

And I watched the room change.

Not because I was trying to be impressive, but because when you carry the presence of God into ordinary places, the atmosphere notices.

The conversations kept circling back to God—not forced, not religious, but real. Hope entered. Peace entered. Perspective entered.

And by the time we were leaving—after hours—one woman spoke up in front of everyone and said something like, “I came in anxious… but the words of hope you released gave me courage.”

That’s not a “nice story.”

That’s a picture.

Because I’m convinced many believers don’t understand the mandate of heaven.

We focus so much on ourselves that we miss the assignments around us.

But here’s the truth:

There are divine appointments around you constantly.

Every day.

Not just for preachers.

Not just for “the bold ones.”

Not just for “the gifted ones.”

For you.

For the introvert.

For the tired.

For the one who feels hidden.

For the one who thinks they have nothing to give.

And here’s how you step into it: sensitivity to the Holy Spirit.

“Lord, what would You have me do today?”

Then obey.

Because the New Testament conqueror is not the one who wins arguments.

It’s the one who obeys the Spirit.

And this is where I need to confront a subtle sickness in the church.

Distraction.

We are living in an age where outrage is addictive.

Political narratives are endless.

Controversies multiply by the hour.

People build identities around what they oppose.

And the devil doesn’t even care what side you’re on, as long as you’re consumed by noise instead of consumed by Christ.

I’ve watched believers become more passionate about issues than about the gospel.

More vocal about politics than about prayer.

More energized by “dirt” than by destiny.

And I want to ask a question that needs to be asked:

How is that advancing the kingdom?

If what you’re feeding on is producing cynicism, anger, contempt, and suspicion—how is that the Spirit of Christ?

Jesus never dishonored authority.

He didn’t posture.

He didn’t rage.

He surrendered—right into injustice—because the Kingdom was bigger than the moment.

And some of us need a mind shift.

Not a personality shift.

Not a branding shift.

A Kingdom shift.

Because the New Testament conqueror doesn’t spend their life chasing the emotional high of being “right.”

They spend their life carrying the presence of God into broken places.

This is where it gets personal: the Lord is calling us out of self-preservation.

Self-preservation says: protect yourself first.

The Kingdom says: lose your life and you’ll find it.

Self-preservation says: avoid discomfort.

The Kingdom says: take up your cross.

Self-preservation says: curate your image.

The Kingdom says: surrender your reputation.

Self-preservation says: hoard your strength.

The Kingdom says: pour it out.

And I can’t shake this: in the New Covenant, the primary battlefield is not merely “out there.”

It’s in here.

In the heart.

In the motives.

In the inner man.

Because if you’re going to be trusted with authority, you must be conquered by love.

And yes—I said love.

Because faith is powerful. Hope is powerful. But Scripture says the greatest is love.

And I’ve said this for years, and I’m saying it again:

If it isn’t love, I don’t want it.

Not the gifting without love.

Not the power without love.

Not the “right doctrine” without love.

Not the ministry platform without love.

Not the influence without love.

Because without love, we may impress people… but we will not advance the Kingdom.

Let me tell you what love does. It goes where religious comfort refuses to go.

I remember taking a group out—young believers, interns, hungry hearts—and we ended up in a sports bar. And nearby there was a table of people drinking heavy.

And something in me said, “Bring them cake.”

Not because I was trying to be cute. Because love looks for a doorway.

So we brought them cake.

And it opened conversation.

And conversation opened witness.

And witness opened a moment of light in a place that religion would have avoided.

And I remember thinking: this is what Jesus does.

He came for the lost.

He came for the broken.

He came for the ones who don’t have it together.

And if we’re going to be conquerors, we can’t only love the “safe” people.

We have to carry the heart of God.

Not the judgment of the world.

Not the superiority of religion.

The heart of God.

So what does a New Testament conqueror look like?

It looks like someone who is surrendered.

Someone who is led.

Someone who hears the Father.

Someone who doesn’t need applause.

Someone who doesn’t need to win every conversation.

Someone who isn’t driven by fear.

Someone who has stopped making life about comfort and started making life about the Kingdom.

And here is the line that keeps returning like a hammer:

It is no longer I who live—Christ lives in me.

That’s the conquering secret.

Because when Christ lives in you:

• your words carry weight

  
  
  
  

• your prayers carry authority

  
  
  
  

• your obedience carries fire

  
  
  
  

• your love carries presence

  
  
  
  

• your life carries proof

  
  
  
  

Not because you’re perfect, but because you’re surrendered.

And I believe some of you are reading this while the enemy is mocking you with your wounds, your past, your failures, your regrets.

But I hear the Spirit say:

“It’s finished.”

No longer second-class.

No longer disqualified.

No longer living under shame.

The blood speaks.

The Spirit empowers.

The Father calls.

And heaven is not waiting for you to become impressive.

Heaven is waiting for you to become yielded.

So tonight—right where you are—choose.

Not emotionally.

Not impulsively.

But genuinely.

Will you keep living distracted?

Will you keep living reactive?

Will you keep living for self-preservation?

Or will you surrender again?

Because surrender is not once.

It’s daily.

It’s the posture of the New Covenant conqueror.

And I’m asking you—before you move on from this:

Where is your heart?

Have you surrendered the wounds?

Have you surrendered the fear?

Have you surrendered the need to control outcomes?

Have you surrendered the parts of you that still argue with God?

Because when you surrender… the Spirit can fill you.

And when the Spirit fills you… the conquering identity awakens.

And you will find yourself advancing the Kingdom in places you never expected—waiting rooms, grocery stores, phone calls, late nights, quiet conversations, broken hearts, unexpected moments.

And this is what I want to declare over you as I close:

You were not saved to survive.

You were saved to overcome.

Not by willpower.

Not by personality.

Not by striving.

But by the indwelling Christ—by the Spirit of the living God.

Prophetic Declarations

• I declare: I am not living from fear—I am living from faith.

  
  
  
  

• I declare: distraction is breaking off my mind, and clarity is coming.

  
  
  
  

• I declare: the Holy Spirit is leading me, and I will recognize His voice.

  
  
  
  

• I declare: I will not be ruled by self-preservation; I will be ruled by surrender.

  
  
  
  

• I declare: the mandate of heaven is on my life, and I will advance the Kingdom.

  
  
  
  

• I declare: the enemy’s accusations are collapsing, and shame has no authority over me.

  
  
  
  

• I declare: it is no longer I who live—Christ lives in me.

  
  
  
  

• I declare: I am more than a conqueror through Jesus Christ, and I will walk it out now.