Written by Dr. Kiefer Likens, Th.D.
Let’s get this straight from the start: your feelings are not the Holy Spirit.
But we live in a time where emotions have been canonized as sacred. You “felt” something during that worship song? That must have been the Spirit. You cried during a sermon? Clearly, God moved. You didn’t “feel” anything during the Lord’s Supper? Must’ve been dead religion.
Garbage.
Your feelings can be manipulated by lights, music, sleep deprivation, caffeine, and nostalgia. That’s not spiritual discernment. That’s biology.
Meanwhile, the Bible doesn’t command you to feel saved. It commands you to believe. Faith isn’t a mood. It’s not a spiritual high. It’s not a goosebump-laced moment of transcendence. It’s trust in the person and work of Christ, rooted in God’s Word and applied by the Spirit.
And if you’re basing your walk with Jesus on whether or not you “feel close” to Him—congratulations, you’ve built your spiritual life on quicksand.
Let’s settle something that modern evangelicalism has catastrophically misunderstood: faith is only as good as its object.
That means it doesn’t matter how sincere you are, how emotional you got, or how many tissues you used at the altar call. If your faith is placed in yourself, your experience, or your sincerity, it’s worthless. Period.
And yet, walk into most churches today and you’ll hear things like:
It’s as if the object of faith has become… us. Our effort. Our initiative. Our pursuit. But biblical faith doesn’t begin with man. It begins with Christ. It is directed to Christ. And it is sustained by Christ.
“…fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith…” (Hebrews 12:2)
He starts it. He perfects it. He upholds it.
But emotionalism flips that. It replaces assurance in Christ with a demand for internal fireworks. If you don’t feel “lit up” after a worship service, maybe you’re not walking closely enough. If your devotions weren’t emotionally moving, maybe you weren’t sincere. And so people spiral.
This is how churches unintentionally disciple people into emotional despair. Instead of pointing them to the solid rock of Christ’s finished work, they send them climbing up a staircase of feelings that never ends.
“So faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ.” (Romans 10:17)
That’s the blueprint. Faith isn’t generated by emotion—it’s birthed by the Word. Objective truth. Divine revelation. Infallible promise. That’s where faith lives.
You don’t stir it up. You don’t conjure it through mood music. You hear the Word of Christ. You believe it. You rest in it.
What kind of faith survives persecution, pain, betrayal, and loss? Not the kind built on good vibes. The kind built on doctrine, on truth, on God’s unchanging character revealed in His Word.
Let’s be honest—if your worship only works when the music swells, what you’re doing isn’t Christianity. It’s paganism with a fog machine.
Pagans rely on atmosphere, emotion, ritual, and frenzy to encounter the divine. Christianity relies on Christ crucified, risen, and reigning.
And if your idea of faith is basically a spiritual vibe check, you’ve accidentally slipped into a form of mysticism that the Reformers literally risked their lives to protest.
Faith without truth is not faith—it’s folly.
Yes. Absolutely. God created emotions. And the Psalms are filled with weeping, joy, depression, praise, anger, and hope.
But read them carefully.
David doesn’t start with his feelings—he brings them to the throne. And every time, his emotions are anchored by God’s character:
“Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God.” (Psalm 42:5)
Feelings are acknowledged. But they are not king. God is. And faith listens to God instead of obeying emotion.
That’s the key: biblical faith doesn’t ignore emotions—it subordinates them.
Let’s bring it back to center. What is the gospel object of faith?
Not your feelings. Not your sincerity. Not your ability to believe hard enough.
Christ. Alone.
This is the foundation of real, saving, enduring faith. Christ for us. Christ in our place. Christ interceding still.
That’s the object of faith.
And if your faith is in Him, even when your emotions fail you, He will not.
“If we are faithless, He remains faithful—for He cannot deny Himself.” (2 Tim. 2:13)
Let’s talk addiction.
Not to porn, pills, or politics—though those are real. Let’s talk about the addiction that’s killing churches from the inside out:
Emotional highs.
We’ve trained a generation of Christians to equate spiritual growth with emotional stimulation. If the music hits just right, if the sermon makes you cry, if the atmosphere is charged—you assume God is near. But if it feels dry, normal, or gasp boring, you think something’s wrong.
Here’s the hard truth: you’ve been discipled by dopamine, not by doctrine.
Modern worship culture has turned Sunday morning into a pharmaceutical fix. Dim the lights, play the pad, whisper into the mic—cue the tears. It’s not reverence. It’s emotional engineering.
And it works—until it doesn’t.
Because what happens when life gets hard? When grief comes knocking? When you walk through dry seasons and the emotional high fades?
You crash. You think God is gone. You question your faith. But the truth is: you were never taught to walk by faith, only to ride the wave of feelings.
It’s not just dangerous—it’s idolatry.
The moment you start chasing the next emotional mountaintop, you’re no longer pursuing Christ—you’re pursuing an experience. A feeling. A moment. A vibe.
“They exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator.” (Rom. 1:25)
We don’t use golden calves anymore. We use Bethel anthems and a fog machine.
The golden calf didn’t look evil. It was an attempt to “visualize” God. But it was a shortcut. A manipulation. An idol. Just like emotional hype masquerading as the Holy Spirit.
One of the most liberating truths of Reformed theology is that God is not limited to our feelings. He’s not more present when you cry, or less present when you’re bored. He’s present where He promised to be:
He meets us in the ordinary means of grace. And those means don’t need your mood to be effective. They work because God works through them.
Ask Job. Ask David. Ask Jeremiah. Ask Christ Himself in Gethsemane.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46)
Faith isn’t proven when you feel God. It’s proven when you don’t—and you trust Him anyway.
The mountain-top moment isn’t where most of your sanctification happens. It’s in the valley. The desert. The waiting. That’s where faith is tested and refined.
So if you’re chasing goosebumps, you’ll bail on God the minute the emotional high wears off.
But if you’ve anchored yourself in Christ—no fog machine needed—your faith will endure.
“Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” (John 20:29)
Here’s the irony: emotionalism feels spiritual, but it often feeds the flesh.
Because what you’re really after isn’t God—it’s a feeling that makes you feel good. That’s self-worship. It masquerades as passion for God, but it’s often just a passion for being passionate.
God is not a thrill ride. He is holy. Steady. Sovereign. Sufficient.
The faith that pleases Him is not the kind that screams the loudest or weeps the most. It’s the faith that believes when belief feels impossible. That obeys when obedience feels unrewarded. That trusts when trust costs everything.
So let’s call it out. If your Christianity needs constant emotional validation, it’s time to grow up. Time to trade the spiritual pacifier for the sword of the Spirit. Time to cling to Christ—not the feeling of Christ.
Faith that endures isn’t always emotional. Sometimes, it’s dry-eyed, knee-worn, Bible-open obedience in the dark.
And that’s more Spirit-filled than a hundred fog-drenched worship nights.
“For we walk by faith, not by sight.” (2 Cor. 5:7)
Or by goosebumps.
Let’s talk about what faith actually looks like.
Not the kind you see on a conference stage where people shout “amen” because the band dropped the bridge just right. Not the kind that hinges on whether or not you got your coffee before church or whether the vibes were lit enough to feel something.
No, let’s talk biblical faith.
Let’s talk Paul in a prison cell, writing to the Philippians about joy while chained to a wall.
Let’s talk about Job, scraping sores with pottery while saying, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.”
Let’s talk about Jesus sweating blood in Gethsemane, saying, “Not My will, but Yours be done.”
This is real faith. And it looks nothing like a Hillsong highlight reel.
Real faith doesn’t evaporate when the goosebumps do. It fights when your emotions betray you. It clings to truth when your heart lies to you.
“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17:9)
If you let your heart and your emotions lead the way, you’re not following Jesus—you’re following the worst GPS in existence. Faith doesn’t follow the heart. It masters the heart by submitting it to God’s Word.
“Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God…” (Psalm 42:11)
The Psalmist preaches at his emotions. Real faith doesn’t pretend feelings don’t exist. It just refuses to give them the microphone.
The book of Philippians is a clinic in emotional resilience rooted in theological clarity. Paul is in chains. Literally. He’s been beaten, betrayed, starved, shipwrecked, and falsely accused.
And what does he write?
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice.” (Philippians 4:4)
Not because he feels great. Not because the jailhouse band started playing his favorite chorus. But because the Lord is near (Phil. 4:5). Because his citizenship is in heaven (Phil. 3:20). Because to live is Christ, and to die is gain (Phil. 1:21).
His joy was theological. Not circumstantial. Not emotional. Not manufactured by atmosphere.
We’ve been sold a version of joy that’s allergic to hardship. That folds at the first sign of suffering. That needs a mood playlist and a clever sermon bumper just to keep going.
That’s not joy. That’s emotional dependency in a spiritual costume.
Let’s be blunt: many modern worship services aren’t about God—they’re about you.
Did you feel something? Did the music move you? Did the pastor say something tweetable?
Worship has become a self-help concert. And that’s why it’s so often shallow, manipulative, and utterly incapable of sustaining real discipleship.
“They honor Me with their lips, but their hearts are far from Me.” (Matthew 15:8)
God doesn’t want your emotional performance. He wants your obedient worship—the kind that shows up when everything in your flesh wants to run.
Worship isn’t about generating a mood. It’s about exalting a holy God who is worthy whether you’re riding high or barely hanging on.
Real faith:
“We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair… always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies.” (2 Cor. 4:8–10)
This is the Christian life. Not polished. Not always cheerful. But full of Christ.
Listen, it’s not wrong to feel things. Emotions are a gift. But they’re not a compass. And they’re sure as daylight not a measuring stick for spiritual maturity.
If you’ve been trained to think the Holy Spirit shows up only when your arms are raised and the chorus swells, then you’ve been taught to depend on your flesh to interpret the Spirit.
That’s not spiritual discernment. That’s emotional superstition.
“For we walk by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7)
And not by feeling.
If you’re looking for a mountaintop experience every Sunday, you’re going to be disappointed. Because God isn’t interested in manufacturing momentary spiritual adrenaline. He’s interested in making you holy.
And sanctification happens through repetition:
God’s work in you is slow, intentional, and unshakeable.
“…He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” (Phil. 1:6)
Not at the end of a concert. Not after the next conference. But at the day of Christ.
Don’t build your faith on emotions. Build it on the Rock.
When storms come—and they will—your feelings will not sustain you. But Christ will.
If your faith is in Him, even when you feel nothing, you are held.
“Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines… yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation.” (Habakkuk 3:17–18)
That’s what real faith looks like.
No fog machines required.
Let’s land this thing with the thunder it deserves.
You were not saved by a chill down your spine. You were not redeemed because of the right chord progression or the perfect lighting. You were not regenerated by your tears, your brokenness, or your emotional sincerity.
You were saved by Christ alone.
“Even when we were dead in our trespasses, [God] made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved.” (Eph. 2:5)
Dead people don’t feel anything. Dead people don’t initiate anything. And yet in our modern gospel presentations, we’ve convinced sinners that salvation is something they feel their way into—as if eternal life is a mood and not a miracle.
Let’s be blunt: your emotions didn’t hang on that cross. Christ did.
If you’ve made your spiritual life revolve around experiences, it’s time to repent.
Repent of chasing moments instead of pursuing Christ. Repent of trusting in moods instead of anchoring in truth. Repent of equating emotional hype with spiritual health.
Christ is not a vibe. He’s a King. He doesn’t ask to be felt. He demands to be believed, obeyed, worshiped, and adored—whether or not your heartstrings are tugged in the process.
“Let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire.” (Heb. 12:28–29)
He is not your personal spiritual mood ring. He is the Sovereign Lord of glory.
If your church is more concerned with atmosphere than theology, it’s not worship—it’s entertainment. If your faith can’t survive without emotional charge, it’s not built on Christ—it’s built on you.
But here’s the beauty: Christ is enough.
The church doesn’t need more manufactured encounters. We need more Christ-exalting, Scripture-saturated, gospel-anchored worship.
That’s where the Spirit works.
“Sanctify them in the truth; Your Word is truth.” (John 17:17)
The means of grace are enough. The Word is enough. The Spirit is enough. Christ is enough.
Maybe you’re reading this and realizing your entire Christian life has been built on an emotional treadmill. Always chasing the next high. Always doubting your faith when the feelings fade.
Good news: Christ didn’t die to save your vibes.
He died to save you.
And the faith that saves you is the faith that clings to Him—not your feelings about Him.
So repent. Rest. And rejoice.
Come back to the Cross, where the blood speaks louder than your doubt. Come back to the Word, where the promises of God are yes and amen. Come back to the Table, where the bread and wine scream “finished” louder than your insecurities.
And walk forward—not on the path of emotional hype, but on the narrow road of real, gritty, crucified-and-risen-again faith.
“For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.” (1 Cor. 2:2)
Amen.
Let’s go.
Dr. Kiefer Likens, Th.D. is a Reformed pastor, author, and creative director based in Texas. He leads Redemption Ranch, a church committed to Scripture-centered worship, and holds a doctorate in Biblical Exposition. Kiefer is the author of For Christ and Covenant and Measured by Grace, blending deep theology with pastoral insight. He also runs a creative agency, specializing in design, branding, and web development.
