We are living in an era where the fear of God has been exchanged for the fear of missing out, and the sacred has been swallowed by the spectacular. Men no longer seek to be faithful—they seek to be followed. Sermons have become scripts. Worship has become performance. Holiness is staged, and brokenness rehearsed. And in this noisy age of curated spirituality and religious showmanship, the Spirit of the Lord cries out—not for more visibility, but for more authenticity.
We have become experts at acting spiritual, but strangers to the secret place. We know how to cry on cue, how to lift holy hands with unholy hearts, how to fast for attention rather than for alignment. It is no longer about what Heaven sees—it’s about who’s watching. And the altar, once soaked with tears of repentance, is now littered with the props of performance.
“They loved the praise of men more than the praise of God.” — John 12:43
This is not just a warning. It is a divine alarm. The stage must fall. The masks must break. The saints must wake.
For until we cease the performance, we cannot step into power.
Until we stop living for eyes below, we will never live from the eyes above.
This is the hour to burn the script and return to the secret place.
Not to be impressive—but to be aligned. Not to be applauded—but to be approved. Not to trend—but to tremble.
The time has come to break free from the tyranny of human applause—and finally hear the only approval that matters: “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
You were not called to impress. You were called to impact.
You were not saved to entertain crowds. You were anointed to set captives free.
When Jesus wept, He did not call for cameras. When He healed, He often said, “Tell no one.” Yet we build platforms out of moments that should have remained altars. Our fasting is livestreamed. Our giving is publicized. Our devotion is marketed. And then we wonder why the heavens feel silent.
“If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ.” – Apostle Paul (Galatians 1:10)
The disease of people-pleasing is not a weakness—it is idolatry. It is spiritual slavery wrapped in affirmation. It is bondage disguised as relevance. It is the subtle temptation to exchange the fear of God for the flattery of men. And make no mistake—what you crave will eventually control you.
As Bishop T.D. Jakes once declared, “If you live by people’s acceptance, you’ll die by their rejection.”
So many destinies have been aborted—not by sin, but by self-image management. Saul lost his throne not because he lacked courage, but because he feared the people (1 Samuel 15:24). Pilate washed his hands off Jesus—not because he believed in the crucifixion, but because he feared a mob. The desire to please people will crucify your convictions and silence your calling.
Let it be known: the crowd is fickle. Today they chant “Hosanna!”, tomorrow they scream “Crucify Him!” Heaven is not moved by your public perception, but by your private posture. God seeks those who will kneel when no one is watching, who will serve when no one is clapping, who will burn when no one sees the fire.
Dr. Myles Munroe once said, “True leadership is not about impressing people. It is about expressing God’s purpose.”
Let your purpose speak louder than your performance. Let your altar outweigh your platform. Let your obedience echo louder than any applause ever could. There is freedom in being unknown to men and deeply known by God. There is peace in walking away from the noise of expectation and walking into the stillness of divine instruction.
Jesus did not die to make you popular. He died to make you powerful.
And until you are free from the need to be liked, you will never be free to be used. Until you break the mirror of public approval, you will never reflect the image of Christ. Until you crucify the idol of human praise, your worship will never rise as incense.
Charles Spurgeon warned, “Do not desire to be the man of the hour. Desire to be the man of the altar.”
In this hour, God is calling His people back to authenticity. Not the performance of piety, but the power of purity. Not the pursuit of applause, but the presence of the Almighty. A generation that trembles not before crowds, but before God. A people more concerned with being holy than being seen as holy.
Can you walk away from the stage?
Can you kneel in the secret place and let God alone be your audience?
Can you preach to five with the same fire you would to five thousand?
Can you sing without the spotlight? Give without the gram? Obey without the ovation?
If you can, you are free. Truly free. Free from the tyranny of likes. Free from the prison of perception. Free from the addiction to relevance. And that kind of freedom shakes kingdoms, shifts atmospheres, and stirs revival.
Let the church be reminded: You are not actors on a religious stage. You are soldiers in a sacred war. The applause of men fades, but the approval of God endures. Lay down the mask. Burn the script. Cancel the performance.
You are not called to impress.
You are called to obey.
You are not called to sparkle.
You are called to shine.
You are not called to be admired.
You are called to be aligned.
And if the world rejects you, so be it. You were never here to fit in—you were sent to stand out. To be salt. To be light. To be a remnant. To be true.
“Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you!” – Luke 6:26
“And the world was not worthy of them.” – Hebrews 11:38
Heaven is not counting your followers. Heaven is watching your footsteps.
So rise, O child of God.
Step off the stage.
Kneel at the altar.
And let your life become a private sermon heaven cannot ignore.
Cease the performance. God is waiting behind the curtain.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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