Samson – when God left him

Something you’ve never considered …

When the Spirit lifts ...

“And he awoke from his sleep and said, ‘I will go out as at other times and shake myself free.’ But he did not know that the Lord had left him.” Judges 16:20.

There’s a kind of dread in that line. Not in the drama, but in the silence. The power was gone. The Spirit had lifted. And Samson didn’t know.

He moved like he always had. Same posture. Same plan. But something had changed. Not in the mechanics, but in the presence. The outward action looked identical – but the inward reality was vacant, absolutely empty. That’s the danger of growing familiar with the form and forgetting the source. Things are what they are – until they are not. This was one of those moments.

Grab your coffee, pull up close, and if you wear glasses, put them on – this might be what you have been needing to read for a while. This Samson drama isn’t just a warning – it’s also a strange kind of mercy. Samson moved expecting God to act. That tells you something about how God had worked with him. Time and time again, God had come upon him, often in moments where Samson’s personal holiness was lacking. The anointing wasn’t a feeling. It was a fact.

And that’s the part we need to recover.

You don’t have to feel anointed to be anointed. Scripture never makes the anointing about sensation, a kind of “tzzzzzz” of unearthed electricity – surging, pulsating through you like a Marvel superhero’s Infinity Gauntlet, which grants near-omnipotence. It’s better. It’s about calling and covenant. It’s about the Spirit of the Living God resting upon human weakness and producing something that only He could produce – at His initiative and His timing.

We’ve baptised our insecurity in spiritual language. “I didn’t feel led.” “I didn’t feel anything.” “The atmosphere wasn’t right.” But what does that even mean? Since when was obedience dependent on mood? Or prophecy on goose bumps?

We prophesy by faith. We lay hands on the sick by faith. We speak, move, lead, trust, wait, and act by faith. The entire ‘stuff’ of the kingdom runs not on emotion, but on trust. The righteous shall live by faith. Not by impulse. Not by energy in the room. By faith.

That’s why John Wimber was happy to stop the music, turn the lights on full, and pray for the sick – the very sick – in a room full of spectating learners. Think about the valley of dry bones in Ezekiel 37 – it carries the same edge. It’s not soft imagery. It’s a battlefield stripped bare, nothing left but bones scattered in the dust. No life. No hope. A valley that speaks of finality. Then the Lord asks Ezekiel, “Son of man, can these bones live?” A question that admits only one answer: “O Lord God, you know.”

Here’s the point. God doesn’t ask Ezekiel to feel something, He asks him to speak something. To prophesy to what looks hopeless. No pulse. No movement. Just death. And yet, when he obeys, the Word goes out, and there’s a sound. Rattling. Bones clattering back into place. Sinews. Flesh. A body formed. Still no breath. Don’t mistake noise for life. Then God commands again, “prophesy to the breath.” Call it in. Ezekiel speaks – and breath enters. They rise, a vast army. Ezekiel isn’t led by sensation. He’s not inspired by an atmosphere. He simply obeys. He prophesies by faith. And as he does, God works.

Samson gets a mention in Hebrews 11 – it doesn’t read like a list of spiritual highs though. It reads like war. Like grit. Like men and women who pressed forward when nothing in them felt ready. Noah built without a forecast. Abraham packed without a map. Moses left behind status and power, choosing mistreatment over comfort. You know the stories by heart. They didn’t wait for a moment – they obeyed a word. And in their wake, the evidence: God was at work. Whether they perceived it or not.

So for you, here we go – that’s the mark of faith, real faith. The authentic faith. You might feel nothing, but the sick recover. You speak, and the room responds. You pray, and demons tremble. Not because you felt power – but because God honours His Word.

Faith doesn’t need to feel anointing to do it, and obedience certainly doesn’t require a sign. The Spirit is not waiting for us to be in the mood. He’s waiting for us to trust Him.

We’ve grown used to thinking the anointing is something you can sense. But the deeper reality is this: sometimes the most anointed thing you will ever do is obey God in complete weakness, with no evidence except your conviction that He is faithful.

Put your cup down and pause as you read this…

Samson’s tragedy was not that he lost the anointing. It was that he didn’t notice when it had lifted. He’d grown so used to moving without intimacy that he mistook memory for presence.

Let that never be said of us.

Better to move by faith, with no feeling, and find God was in it – than to wait for a feeling, and miss what He wanted to do.

You are not called to feel powerful. You are called to believe, obey, and then be hugged by God.

Trusting the One Who Chooses

Joseph or Matthias. Who? Really?

Choose!

I’ve written this for you. Actually, for both of us. We’ve probably been there at some point – praying, hoping, watching for an answer to prayer about opportunity. The door creaks open and we rush to declare, “God wants me to go through.” Or it slams shut and we sigh, “Well, God must not want that for me.” We make providence a chess-game code to be cracked, a series of signs for us to interpret. Yet the book of Acts gives us a powerful reminder that the ways of God are not so easily reduced to a human formula.

Judas has gone. Pause. Look out of the window. Reflect. Move on. The twelve are now eleven, and the gap cannot be ignored. So Peter stands up, not with a suggestion but with conviction. Scripture must be fulfilled, he says. Another must take Judas’s place – a witness to the resurrection from the beginning. (Ps 109:8)

Just two men meet the criteria, Joseph, called Barsabbas also known as Justus, and Matthias. Both faithful. Both seasoned. And here is where we might ask, Why not appoint both? Why not tip the ante and turn eleven into thirteen? Surely more hands would lighten the load – especially with what was about to come.

But this wasn’t about efficiency or convenience. It was about obedience. Twelve apostles for twelve tribes. Symbolic. Purposeful. Unyielding. God was not seeking our clever additions. He was calling for trust. And notice, it was not something Joseph or Matthias volunteered for. They didn’t put their names forward, lobby, or present LinkedIn-style credentials. Apostleship was not a career path or a ministry preference. Just as Paul (peering from the shadows at this point) would later explain in Ephesians, apostles and prophets are given, not chosen by men or taken up as hobbies. It is a distinct call, not something we are “into,” but something God ordains. It matters.

So they prayed. And it is interesting how they prayed, “You, Lord, who know the hearts of all, show which one of these two you have chosen.” Look at that. The knower of hearts. They did not say, “Lord, who seems better fitted? Equipped? More learned? Better dressed or well spoken? More popular?” They left the choice to the One who sees what no man can. And so the lot falls on Matthias. And then everything was just – “oh! OK, moving on to the next thing on the agenda…”

Joseph? We don’t hear more of him. His silence speaks. Disappointment may well have touched him. Likely it did. And here, perhaps, you can hear the creaking of destiny and purpose. You may have thought you were meant for that place, that role, that calling. But here you are. The door closed. The role given to another.

Nevertheless, the omnipotence of God’s magnificent providence overshadows you. You are absolutely not forgotten. You are not on the bench. You are not on the dreadful and wrongly termed “yesterday’s man or woman” list.

This is where the gospel loudly whispers its grace. In those seasons when you feel overlooked by friends, peers, church leaders, or even God – things are rarely what they seem. Your confidence is not in a ‘closed door or an open one’, but in God and His hand on your life. You stand on the promise that “all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose.” His will is paramount – and it is always good. Not a fleeting hunch, not a gut feeling. This is godly discernment, quiet, anchored, aware that God’s sovereignty shapes even the disappointments.

Joseph and Matthias – they slip in here as shadows on the script of Acts. You meet them briefly, and this is their first and only appearance. Then they vanish, yet their presence, and your ignorance of their later stories, teaches a quiet lesson – God’s work often unfolds beyond your sight. Your calling may not make headlines. Your service may not come with applause and yet, His love remains unimpaired, His will unthwarted.

This moment in Acts is also unique. It is the first time you see the disciples praying – not simply to God in general, but directly to the Lord. The shift is subtle, the direction intentional. It’s not casual. It’s piercing. It is the One who knows hearts, the One who orchestrates kingdoms, the One to whom you entrust your fears, hopes, unmet longings, and unseen pathways.

So if you find yourself in Joseph’s silent place – felt overlooked, passed over, forgotten, remember, this was never about volunteering or self-promotion. It was, and always is, about God’s sovereign choosing. And in that, there is freedom.

What matters is not whether the door opens for you, what matters is whether your heart is bent toward the Lord, trusting that His love is abundant, His will flawless, His purpose unbreakable. Trust that the knower of hearts sees you, ordains you, and loves you – even when the story hushes, even when His reasons remain veiled. He’s not forgotten you – as if He could!