As believers in Jesus Christ, we’ve been given a gift far greater than we often realize—direct access to the throne of grace. Hebrews 4:16 tells us, “Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” By the blood of Jesus, we can come boldly before God—not just for ourselves, but on behalf of others.
This privilege comes with a responsibility. If we have access to the Father, and those who are lost do not, then intercession is not just an act of love—it’s an act of spiritual rescue.
Scripture paints a sobering picture of the condition of the unbeliever. Isaiah 59:2 declares, “Your iniquities have made a separation between you and your God, and your sins have hidden His face from you so that He does not hear.” The prayers of the unrighteous are hindered, not because God is deaf, but because sin separates.
Proverbs 15:29 says, “The Lord is far from the wicked, but He hears the prayer of the righteous.” And John 9:31 reflects, “We know that God does not listen to sinners, but if anyone is a worshiper of God and does His will, God listens to him.”
This is why intercession matters. While God may respond in mercy to a seeking heart (as He did with Cornelius in Acts 10), the normal state of the unbeliever is spiritual alienation. They are estranged from the throne we freely approach.
In Ezekiel 22:30, God says, “I sought for a man among them who should build up the wall and stand in the breach before me for the land… but I found none.” He was looking for someone to stand in the gap—to intercede on behalf of the guilty. Sadly, in that moment, no one did.
But we can. We must.
The Apostle Paul writes in Romans 10:1, “Brothers, my heart’s desire and prayer to God for them is that they may be saved.” In 1 Timothy 2:1–4, he urges prayers and intercessions for all people, specifically tying our prayers to God’s desire that “all people be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth.”
Intercession is not passive. It’s not wishful thinking. It’s the active, powerful work of standing in the gap between the lost and the judgment they face—and pleading for God’s mercy.
I often picture intercession like a scene from The Lord of the Rings. Frodo, the ring-bearer, represents the lost soul—crushed beneath the weight of the One Ring, a symbol of sin and death. As the journey draws to its close, Frodo collapses on the slopes of Mount Doom. He cannot go on. The burden is too great.
Then Sam comes.
Sam doesn’t take the Ring. He can’t. But he does something just as powerful: he lifts Frodo onto his back and climbs the mountain with him. He says, “I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you!”
That’s what intercession looks like.
We can’t take the sin of the lost upon ourselves—that’s Christ’s work alone. But we can carry their names, their stories, their burdens into the throne room. We, the redeemed, are like Sam—free from the burden, but willing to climb for the sake of the one who isn’t.
If you are in Christ, you have access to the throne of grace. The lost do not. That means your prayers may be their only pathway to mercy, until they come to Christ themselves. When you intercede, you are not just talking to God—you are carrying someone to Him.
So pick them up. Carry them. Cry out on their behalf. Stand in the gap.
Because the throne is open. And someone needs to be carried there.
Father in Heaven,
Thank You for the mercy that opened the way for us to come boldly before Your throne. Thank You for the blood of Jesus that tore the veil and welcomed us into Your presence as sons and daughters.
Lord, we grieve for those who are far from You—those still burdened by sin, blind to Your goodness, and cut off from the grace we now walk in. Place their names on our hearts. Give us compassion that won’t grow cold. Give us faith that won’t grow weary. Teach us to stand in the gap with love, persistence, and boldness.
Make us intercessors.
Like Sam carried Frodo up the mountain, help us carry the names, the needs, and the eternal souls of the lost into Your presence. Remind us that when we pray, we do not come alone—we carry others with us, trusting in Your power to save.
We ask You, Lord, to break chains, remove blinders, soften hearts, and draw the lost to Yourself. Let our prayers prepare the way for redemption. Let our cries echo Your own heart for the world.
And may we never forget what a privilege it is to stand in the throne room—not for our sake alone, but for theirs.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.