Do You Know Him?
Do You Really Know Him? The Difference Between Knowing About God and Actually Knowing God
There is a story tucked inside the book of Acts that does not get nearly enough attention. Seven men — sons of a Jewish chief priest named Sceva — decided to try casting out an evil spirit by invoking the name of Jesus. Not because they had a relationship with Jesus. Not because they had surrendered their lives to him. But because they had watched someone else do it and figured the name alone was enough of a credential.
The demon's response is one of the most sobering lines in all of Scripture. Acts 19:15 records the evil spirit answering back with something along the lines of: Jesus I know, and Paul I know, but who are you? What followed was not a deliverance. It was a beating. The seven men fled the house naked and wounded.
That story should stop every one of us cold.
Because the question the demon asked is the same question we all need to sit with: Who are you, really, in the spirit? Not what is your title. Not how long you have been in church. Not how many songs you know or how loud you can shout. But do you actually know Jesus — and does he know you?
Religion Is Not Relationship
Saul of Tarsus is one of the most dramatic examples in Scripture of a person who was deeply religious but completely wrong about God. He was educated. He was zealous. He was so convinced he was doing the right thing that he was dragging Christians out of their homes, throwing them into prison, and standing by approvingly as the first Christian martyr, Stephen, was stoned to death.
Saul was not doing evil because he wanted to. He was doing evil because he genuinely believed he was serving God. That is the danger of religion without relationship. You can be sincerely wrong. You can be passionately headed in the exact opposite direction from where God is calling you.
It took a blinding light on the road to Damascus and an audible voice from heaven to stop Saul in his tracks. Acts 9:4-6 captures the moment — a voice calling his name, a question that cut to the core of everything he thought he knew, and a single response from Saul that changed the trajectory of his life: "Lord, what do you want me to do?"
That question — that posture of surrender — is where everything begins.
Surrender Is the Starting Line
The moment Saul stopped striving and started surrendering, God could finally work. And the work God did was extraordinary. The man who once persecuted Christians became one of the greatest champions the church has ever known. Acts 19:11-12 describes God working unusual miracles through Paul — so unusual that even handkerchiefs and aprons that had touched him were carried to the sick, and diseases left and evil spirits went out.
That is not the story of a gifted man. That is the story of a surrendered one.
There is a profound difference between those two things. Gifts are things we are born with. Surrender is a daily choice. Paul did not walk in that kind of power because he was talented or educated or well-connected. He walked in it because he had given everything over to God — his plans, his reputation, his comfort, his very life.
The Bible describes this in Romans 12:1 as offering your body as a living sacrifice. It is not a one-time transaction. It is a daily decision. Every morning, the choice is the same: Will I live for myself today, or will I live for him?
The Oil in Your Lamp
Here is a hard truth worth sitting with: the reason we do not see more of the miraculous in everyday life is not because God has stopped moving. It is because many of us are running on empty.
Jesus described his followers as the light of the world in Matthew 5:14. But light requires oil. A lamp with no oil gives no light, no matter how beautiful the vessel. And oil — in the language of Scripture — represents the presence and anointing of the Holy Spirit. You do not accumulate it by accident. You accumulate it by intentional time spent in prayer, in the Word, in worship, in surrender.
The sons of Sceva had no oil. They had borrowed language and a borrowed name, but they had no personal history with the God behind that name. When the moment of pressure came, there was nothing to draw from.
Contrast that with Paul, who carried so much of God's presence that it overflowed into the fabric of his clothing. That is not a strange supernatural anomaly reserved for a select few. That is what overflow looks like. Ephesians 5:18 calls us to be filled with the Spirit — not partially, not occasionally, but filled to the point of overflow.
The Question That Changes Everything
Saul, flat on the ground, blinded by the light of heaven, asked the only question that matters: "Who are you, Lord?" And then, once he had his answer, he asked the second question that every surrendered life must ask: "What do you want me to do?"
Those two questions, asked in sincerity, will rearrange your entire life.
Knowing about Jesus is not the same as knowing Jesus. Knowing church culture, knowing the songs, knowing the right language — none of that carries weight in the spirit. What carries weight is relationship. Time spent. Trust built. A track record of God's faithfulness written across the pages of your own life.
John 10:27 describes it simply — his sheep hear his voice, and he knows them. That word "know" is not casual familiarity. It is deep, intimate, personal knowledge.
The most urgent question any of us can ask today is not about theology or doctrine or church attendance. It is the same question that stopped a murderous religious zealot on a dusty road outside Damascus and turned him into the author of half the New Testament.
Do you know him? And does he know you?
That answer changes everything.
There is a story tucked inside the book of Acts that does not get nearly enough attention. Seven men — sons of a Jewish chief priest named Sceva — decided to try casting out an evil spirit by invoking the name of Jesus. Not because they had a relationship with Jesus. Not because they had surrendered their lives to him. But because they had watched someone else do it and figured the name alone was enough of a credential.
The demon's response is one of the most sobering lines in all of Scripture. Acts 19:15 records the evil spirit answering back with something along the lines of: Jesus I know, and Paul I know, but who are you? What followed was not a deliverance. It was a beating. The seven men fled the house naked and wounded.
That story should stop every one of us cold.
Because the question the demon asked is the same question we all need to sit with: Who are you, really, in the spirit? Not what is your title. Not how long you have been in church. Not how many songs you know or how loud you can shout. But do you actually know Jesus — and does he know you?
Religion Is Not Relationship
Saul of Tarsus is one of the most dramatic examples in Scripture of a person who was deeply religious but completely wrong about God. He was educated. He was zealous. He was so convinced he was doing the right thing that he was dragging Christians out of their homes, throwing them into prison, and standing by approvingly as the first Christian martyr, Stephen, was stoned to death.
Saul was not doing evil because he wanted to. He was doing evil because he genuinely believed he was serving God. That is the danger of religion without relationship. You can be sincerely wrong. You can be passionately headed in the exact opposite direction from where God is calling you.
It took a blinding light on the road to Damascus and an audible voice from heaven to stop Saul in his tracks. Acts 9:4-6 captures the moment — a voice calling his name, a question that cut to the core of everything he thought he knew, and a single response from Saul that changed the trajectory of his life: "Lord, what do you want me to do?"
That question — that posture of surrender — is where everything begins.
Surrender Is the Starting Line
The moment Saul stopped striving and started surrendering, God could finally work. And the work God did was extraordinary. The man who once persecuted Christians became one of the greatest champions the church has ever known. Acts 19:11-12 describes God working unusual miracles through Paul — so unusual that even handkerchiefs and aprons that had touched him were carried to the sick, and diseases left and evil spirits went out.
That is not the story of a gifted man. That is the story of a surrendered one.
There is a profound difference between those two things. Gifts are things we are born with. Surrender is a daily choice. Paul did not walk in that kind of power because he was talented or educated or well-connected. He walked in it because he had given everything over to God — his plans, his reputation, his comfort, his very life.
The Bible describes this in Romans 12:1 as offering your body as a living sacrifice. It is not a one-time transaction. It is a daily decision. Every morning, the choice is the same: Will I live for myself today, or will I live for him?
The Oil in Your Lamp
Here is a hard truth worth sitting with: the reason we do not see more of the miraculous in everyday life is not because God has stopped moving. It is because many of us are running on empty.
Jesus described his followers as the light of the world in Matthew 5:14. But light requires oil. A lamp with no oil gives no light, no matter how beautiful the vessel. And oil — in the language of Scripture — represents the presence and anointing of the Holy Spirit. You do not accumulate it by accident. You accumulate it by intentional time spent in prayer, in the Word, in worship, in surrender.
The sons of Sceva had no oil. They had borrowed language and a borrowed name, but they had no personal history with the God behind that name. When the moment of pressure came, there was nothing to draw from.
Contrast that with Paul, who carried so much of God's presence that it overflowed into the fabric of his clothing. That is not a strange supernatural anomaly reserved for a select few. That is what overflow looks like. Ephesians 5:18 calls us to be filled with the Spirit — not partially, not occasionally, but filled to the point of overflow.
The Question That Changes Everything
Saul, flat on the ground, blinded by the light of heaven, asked the only question that matters: "Who are you, Lord?" And then, once he had his answer, he asked the second question that every surrendered life must ask: "What do you want me to do?"
Those two questions, asked in sincerity, will rearrange your entire life.
Knowing about Jesus is not the same as knowing Jesus. Knowing church culture, knowing the songs, knowing the right language — none of that carries weight in the spirit. What carries weight is relationship. Time spent. Trust built. A track record of God's faithfulness written across the pages of your own life.
John 10:27 describes it simply — his sheep hear his voice, and he knows them. That word "know" is not casual familiarity. It is deep, intimate, personal knowledge.
The most urgent question any of us can ask today is not about theology or doctrine or church attendance. It is the same question that stopped a murderous religious zealot on a dusty road outside Damascus and turned him into the author of half the New Testament.
Do you know him? And does he know you?
That answer changes everything.
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