The Fellowship of the *Claimed*

*This morning began with an early infusion appointment.*

There I was—hooked up, seated still—while medication slowly made its way through my veins, straight into my bloodstream. The goal? To kill whatever is trying to kill me.

It felt like dropping a bomb inside my own body.

A quiet, invisible war. A battle I didn’t choose but have to fight anyway.

While I sat there—surrounded by sterile walls, IV humming softly—a friend sent me a text. It was a poem. One that a so-called pastor had read aloud to his congregation.

Here’s the poem…

*The Fellowship of the Unashamed*

I am part of the fellowship of the unashamed. I have Holy Spirit power.

The die has been cast. I have stepped over the line. The decision has been made. I am a disciple of His. I won’t look back, let up, slow down, back away or be still.

My past is redeemed. My present makes sense. My future is secure. I’m finished with low living, sight walking, small planning, smooth knees, colorless dreams, tamed visions, worldly talking, cheap giving, and dwarfed goals.

I no longer need preeminence, prosperity, position, promotions, applause, or popularity. I don’t have to be right, first, tops, recognized, praised, regarded or rewarded. I now live by faith, lean on His presence, walk by patience, am uplifted by prayer and labor by power.

My pace is set. My gait is fast. My goal is heaven. My road is narrow. My way rough. My companions few. My guide is reliable and my mission is clear.

I cannot be bought, compromised, detoured, lured away, turned back, deluded or delayed. I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice, hesitate in the presence of the adversary, negotiate at the table of the enemy, pander at the pool of popularity or meander in the maze of mediocrity.

I won’t give up, shut up, let up, until I’ve stayed up, stored up, prayed up, paid up, preached up for the cause of Christ.

I am a disciple of Jesus. I must go till He comes, give ’til I drop, preach till all know, and work till He stops me. And when He comes for His own, He’ll have no problem recognizing me. My banner will be clear.

Amen! May it be so in your life and mine.

And here’s my response to him.

I can hear Luther asking "This sounds like Law—where is the Gospel?"

“The Fellowship of the *Claimed* ”

Look, I’ve got good news and bad news.

The bad news? You are not the hero of your own story.

The good news? You were *never supposed to be*. Jesus already handled that part. So relax—this isn’t your movie. You’re in it, but the credits roll under His name.

I’m not part of the *Fellowship of the Unashamed* like it’s some Christian Avengers squad. No, I’m part of something better:

**The Fellowship of the Claimed.**

Why? Because Christ didn’t wait for me to “step over the line.”

He *stepped into* history, *crossed the divide*, and *pulled me over* while I was still trying to figure out if I believed in Wi-Fi in heaven.

Let’s be honest. My faith? It's not always bold. Sometimes it's like my cell signal—one bar and struggling.

But guess what? God doesn’t need five bars from me. He already made the call. Jesus picked up.

My past? Embarrassing.

My present? Coffee-fueled chaos.

My future? Secured—not because I fasted for 40 days, but because Jesus fasted from glory and took the cross instead.

I used to stress about being perfect: smooth prayers, polished Bible plans, and knees without dust or pain.

Now? I’m done trying to impress God like He’s a cosmic talent scout. This isn’t “Heaven’s Got Talent.”

God’s not handing out golden buzzers. He’s handing out *grace*.

I don’t need applause anymore.

(But I will still take a clap when I remember to tithe on time—*just being honest*.)

I don’t need to be first, famous, or featured on a church flyer.

Because I already got the divine shoutout in Jesus Christ.

That’s better than a blue check on Instagram, okay?

My gait? Not fast—I’ve got spiritual shin splints.

My road? Still narrow, full of potholes.

My friends in the faith? Some of them ghost me until Easter.

But my guide? 100% reliable. Even when I take detours, He’s like,

> *“Rerouting... ”*

I can't be bought. Already was. Blood of Christ—paid in full.

I won’t negotiate with the enemy. I barely have time to negotiate my phone bill.

I won’t pander for likes, retweets, or TikTok views.

The Trinity doesn’t scroll—They seal.

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I don’t boast in my fire, my faith, or my fasting.

I boast in Christ—the One who saved me when I didn’t even know I was drowning.

So when He comes back?

He’s not looking for my resume. He’s not checking how many people I “won for Jesus” like I’m working sales.

He will recognize me by His own signature, tattooed on my heart in blood and mercy.

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So yeah—I’m part of the Fellowship.

But not because I’m unashamed, perfect, or powerful.

I'm here because Jesus doesn't lose the ones the Father gave Him.

That’s the only fellowship I trust.

When Christ comes for His own, He won’t need to spot your banner—He will see His *own name* written on your heart. Because *He* is the one who calls, justifies, and glorifies.

For Such A Time As This

Dennis Zulu

Luther with a beer saying

I admire the seal but my first instinct would be to sniff out any trace of *self-righteousness* or *works-based assurance*. I'll ’d ask:

“Who is the subject of every sentence here?”

And he’d find: “*I am… I won’t… I no longer… I now live… I cannot be… I must go…*”

That’s a lot of *I*.

It’s not our *decision*, our *effort*, or even our *banner* that saves us. It’s Christ’s decision for us, His effort on the cross, and His banner over us that proclaims: 'Forgiven.'

In other words, this is dangerously close to turning *faith* into another kind of *works-righteousness*—but this time cloaked in emotional intensity. In the theology of Luther, we are *simul justus et peccator*—at once righteous and a sinner. That tension is absent here.

Yes, let us preach, give, and suffer for Christ—but never with the illusion that our actions make us more recognizable to God. We are recognized solely in Christ, by grace alone.

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*God is not waiting for your banner—He has already CLAIMED you in Jesus Christ* .

The language of *certainty* in this piece unsettling—not because faith doesn’t involve confidence, but because it sounds like a self-generated faith rather than a *graced* one.

*The decision has been made—yes!—but not by you. It was made in Jesus Christ, the true Elect and Rejected One, on your behalf.*

I am concerned that this text risks turning the Christian life into an *individual heroic quest*—as if we’re saving ourselves through unwavering devotion.

Please REMEMBER, I do not *belong* to the Fellowship of the Unashamed because you shouted your allegiance the loudest. You belong because Christ *drew you in*—without asking your permission—and clothed you in His righteousness.

This “manifesto” tries to do with *human resolve* what only God can do through the *Spirit*. And in that way, it forgets the *objective event* of Christ.

Robert Jenson: Might argue

“This sounds like a gospel without the plot.”

Jenson was deeply invested in the idea that theology must be about *the narrative of God*, not just abstract qualities or slogans. He might ask:

“Where is the story of Jesus here? Where is the crucified and risen Christ moving through history?”

This kind of exhortation must be *rooted in the concrete drama* of the Triune God who acts in history. In this version, the self becomes the center; in Jenson’s theology, *God’s story* is the center, and our stories only matter insofar as they’re caught up in His.

Beware of turning the Christian life into your own spiritual résumé. You are not saved by your courage or resolve. You are saved because God, in Jesus Christ, has already walked the narrow road *for you*.

God will recognize me, not by my works but by His wounds!

For Such A Time As This

Dennis Zulu