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The Throne of Lies: Why Autonomy Is the Most Dangerous Gospel You’ve Ever Believed




By Justin Reed | Brushwood Press


We often think of sin in categories—murder, lust, addiction, corruption. The ones that make headlines or get whispered about in prayer circles. But the most dangerous sin may not even raise an eyebrow. It might not be public, scandalous, or even visible. It might be sitting quietly in our hearts—wearing a crown.


It’s called autonomy.


Autonomy is the throne we built for ourselves in Eden. It’s not new. It’s not edgy. It’s not freedom. It’s the original rebellion—sold to us as enlightenment, wrapped in self-empowerment, and fueled by the same ancient whisper that slithered through the Garden: “You will be like God, knowing good and evil” (Genesis 3:5).


The serpent didn’t offer Eve a weapon. He offered her a seat. A throne. The temptation wasn’t about fruit; it was about authority. “You don’t need God to tell you what’s good. Decide for yourself.” That lie worked then, and it still works now. In our culture. In our churches. In us.


We dress autonomy up with noble language: “It’s my truth.” “It’s my choice.” “God won’t force me.” “I get to decide.” But God never gave us the right to rule ourselves. We were not made to be kings. We were made to bear the image of one. The moment we stepped into the illusion of self-rule, we stepped into bondage.


Scripture doesn’t commend our self-determination—it warns against it. “There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death” (Proverbs 14:12). Autonomy seems right. It feels noble. It even preaches well in the age of personal empowerment. But it leads straight into ruin. It is a trap with velvet curtains.


And the church has not been immune. We sing “I Surrender All” while clinging tightly to the pen we want to write our own story with. We ask God to bless our plans, not to break them. We want Jesus to be Savior—but not Lord. We build platforms in His name and sit ourselves on the throne of His glory.


It’s the same rebellion as Eden. It just has better branding.


The truth we need—the one that shatters the illusion—is this: grace did not wait for your permission. Grace did not ask for an invitation. Grace interrupted your funeral.


“You were dead in your trespasses and sins… but God, who is rich in mercy… made us alive with Christ” (Ephesians 2:1–5). Dead people don’t decide. Dead people don’t cooperate. Dead people don’t even reach. They lie still—until God breathes.


“You did not choose Me,” Jesus says, “but I chose you” (John 15:16). That’s not just a sweet sentiment. It’s a declaration of authority. You didn’t find your way back. You didn’t wake yourself up. You didn’t vote grace into office. God acted. And in doing so, He overthrew the throne you were never meant to sit on.


Autonomy isn’t just a problem for culture warriors or secular minds. It’s the quiet rebellion that creeps into our view of salvation, identity, and purpose. Every time we act as if we’re in charge of our own spiritual life—our repentance, our faith, our destiny—we’re rebuilding the very throne Jesus died to destroy.


“You are not your own, for you were bought at a price. So glorify God with your body” (1 Corinthians 6:19–20). These aren’t just beautiful words for a cross-stitched pillow. They are the death knell of autonomy. You were bought. Not consulted. Not persuaded. Purchased. This is not a democracy. It’s a Kingdom. And Jesus wears the crown.


To the one who still clings to control—this is your invitation. Not to negotiate with God. Not to bargain. But to surrender. Not to a tyrant, but to a King who bled. To a Savior who shattered His own body before He shattered your pride.


He’s not asking for your partnership. He’s calling for your worship.


Let the throne fall. Let the chains break. Let Him have what was always His.


You were never meant to rule. You were meant to bow. And in bowing, you will finally find freedom—not the kind the world sells you with hashtags and slogans, but the kind that comes with scars, a cross, and a resurrection. The kind that sings, “Not my will, but Yours be done.”


You don’t need to be like God. You need to be with Him. Surrender is the only path to life. Autonomy is a throne of lies. Let it burn.


⸻


BrushwoodPress.com | Songs. Studies. Surrender.

Listen to the companion track “Throne of Lies” on the Original Music page.




 
 
 

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