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The Gospel Of Loadsamoney
The algorithm is full of prophets now.
Preaching the gospel of platform, profit, and performance (especially if you’re willing to “niche down” and “sell the formula.”)
“Here’s how I made six figures on Substack.”
“Let me show you how to go viral on LinkedIn.”
“Just copy my exact system—it’s not about the money (except it totally is).”
We laugh. We roll our eyes.
And then that whining voice in our head: “I mean… it’d be nice though.”
It’s Loadsamoney all over again. (Harry Enfield’s iconic parody of a bloke whose confidence outweighed his depth, whose cash was his character.)
Only now, the satire has been given branding, testimonials, and a content calendar.
And here’s the part that stings:
That spirit lives in me too.
My flesh still flinches when I see someone doing what I wish I could do—faster, flashier, with a better camera crew.
I still hear that voice:
“You deserve it… righteously.”
But the truth?
I don’t deserve any of it.
I deserve death. Like the rest of us.
And my only job is the one Jesus gave me:
Seek first His kingdom, and His righteousness.
The rest: platforms, influence, spoils, success. Those aren’t guarantees. They’re not even promises. They’re distractions at best, and corrupting forces at worst.
I’ve been sitting with a difficult passage lately. One I’ve read a dozen times, but this time, it felt like God read me.
1 Samuel 30:22.
After battle, some of David’s men didn’t want to share the spoils with the others who had stayed behind. “Wicked and worthless fellows,” Scripture calls them. Corrupt and useless, in another translation. They hadn’t fought, so why should they feast?
And yet, David shares.
Part of me wrestles with that. Shouldn’t he have been more discerning? What if some of them faked their fatigue? What if they were only ever in it for the reward?
The story screams louder when I realise: I’ve known those fellows.
They’ve walked beside me, flattered me, borrowed my words, copied my frameworks.
Praised the workshop, took the handouts, and quietly pivoted into offering the same thing… just “better branded.”
No credit. No collaboration. Just the confidence of those who have better connections and know the rules of the game better than they know what it costs to create something sacred.
Am I bitter?
A bit.
But more than that—I grieve.
I grieve that creativity is so often seen as something to be mined, not nurtured.
I grieve that so many take, not because they’re evil, but because they’re empty.
I grieve that we’ve replaced love with leverage, and relationships with return on investment.
This isn’t just about others though.
It’s about me.
Because I too have wanted the spoils without the scars. I too have faked fatigue. I too have wanted the blessing without the battle.
And yet, God…
God treats me like I belong. While I was still a sinner, He chose me. He forgave me.
He blotted out my transgressions and promised never to remember them Isaiah 43:25.
He didn’t give me what I deserved. He gave me mercy.
So now I sit with this question: Will I treat others the way God has treated me?
Will I walk with discernment, yes—refusing to align with the wicked, the mockers, or the manipulators Psalm 1:1?
But will I also choose mercy, even when my flesh says, “Don’t you dare”?
It’s a spiritual tension.
And it won’t be resolved by a formula.
Only by walking closely with the One who knows every motive—and still calls me friend.
So I breathe.
I listen.
And I choose again..
Not the spoils.
But the Spirit.
(Though sometimes I still wonder… if chocolate digestives were amongst the spoils, would David have shared those too?)
Because if I’m honest, grace is harder to share than gold.
And I’m still learning not to hoard it.
So here’s the question I’m left with:
Who am I still withholding grace from…because they remind me of who I used to be?
And just as importantly:
Who am I still enabling in the name of “being nice”? “Being a decent human being”?
There’s a difference between love and codependence. Between mercy and naïveté. Between generosity and giving the enemy a foothold.
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit differencemakers.substack.com
For generosity without discernment isn’t noble, it’s enablement.
So every morning, I pray. Not for success. Not for applause. Not even for justice. But for this:
A WFP Prayer for Leaders
Wisdom. Favour. Protection.
Lord, give me wisdom to see what my eyes miss, to know what my heart can’t yet discern, to pause long enough to hear You before I speak or act.
Grant me favour with the right people, in the right moments, for the right reasons. Not for my glory, but for Your purposes.
And cover me with protection from the wicked and the worthless, from flattery that flatters itself, from partnerships dressed as promises but seeded in pride.
Let me be generous like You. Lavish in grace, but never reckless with what is holy.
Amen.
This prayer isn’t just a rote daily rhythm. It’s a spiritual survival strategy in a world full of smiling predators and well-dressed parasites and the lies that can so easily trip me up.
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit differencemakers.substack.com
View all episodes
By A difference makers podcast by John MichaelThe algorithm is full of prophets now.
Preaching the gospel of platform, profit, and performance (especially if you’re willing to “niche down” and “sell the formula.”)
“Here’s how I made six figures on Substack.”
“Let me show you how to go viral on LinkedIn.”
“Just copy my exact system—it’s not about the money (except it totally is).”
We laugh. We roll our eyes.
And then that whining voice in our head: “I mean… it’d be nice though.”
It’s Loadsamoney all over again. (Harry Enfield’s iconic parody of a bloke whose confidence outweighed his depth, whose cash was his character.)
Only now, the satire has been given branding, testimonials, and a content calendar.
And here’s the part that stings:
That spirit lives in me too.
My flesh still flinches when I see someone doing what I wish I could do—faster, flashier, with a better camera crew.
I still hear that voice:
“You deserve it… righteously.”
But the truth?
I don’t deserve any of it.
I deserve death. Like the rest of us.
And my only job is the one Jesus gave me:
Seek first His kingdom, and His righteousness.
The rest: platforms, influence, spoils, success. Those aren’t guarantees. They’re not even promises. They’re distractions at best, and corrupting forces at worst.
I’ve been sitting with a difficult passage lately. One I’ve read a dozen times, but this time, it felt like God read me.
1 Samuel 30:22.
After battle, some of David’s men didn’t want to share the spoils with the others who had stayed behind. “Wicked and worthless fellows,” Scripture calls them. Corrupt and useless, in another translation. They hadn’t fought, so why should they feast?
And yet, David shares.
Part of me wrestles with that. Shouldn’t he have been more discerning? What if some of them faked their fatigue? What if they were only ever in it for the reward?
The story screams louder when I realise: I’ve known those fellows.
They’ve walked beside me, flattered me, borrowed my words, copied my frameworks.
Praised the workshop, took the handouts, and quietly pivoted into offering the same thing… just “better branded.”
No credit. No collaboration. Just the confidence of those who have better connections and know the rules of the game better than they know what it costs to create something sacred.
Am I bitter?
A bit.
But more than that—I grieve.
I grieve that creativity is so often seen as something to be mined, not nurtured.
I grieve that so many take, not because they’re evil, but because they’re empty.
I grieve that we’ve replaced love with leverage, and relationships with return on investment.
This isn’t just about others though.
It’s about me.
Because I too have wanted the spoils without the scars. I too have faked fatigue. I too have wanted the blessing without the battle.
And yet, God…
God treats me like I belong. While I was still a sinner, He chose me. He forgave me.
He blotted out my transgressions and promised never to remember them Isaiah 43:25.
He didn’t give me what I deserved. He gave me mercy.
So now I sit with this question: Will I treat others the way God has treated me?
Will I walk with discernment, yes—refusing to align with the wicked, the mockers, or the manipulators Psalm 1:1?
But will I also choose mercy, even when my flesh says, “Don’t you dare”?
It’s a spiritual tension.
And it won’t be resolved by a formula.
Only by walking closely with the One who knows every motive—and still calls me friend.
So I breathe.
I listen.
And I choose again..
Not the spoils.
But the Spirit.
(Though sometimes I still wonder… if chocolate digestives were amongst the spoils, would David have shared those too?)
Because if I’m honest, grace is harder to share than gold.
And I’m still learning not to hoard it.
So here’s the question I’m left with:
Who am I still withholding grace from…because they remind me of who I used to be?
And just as importantly:
Who am I still enabling in the name of “being nice”? “Being a decent human being”?
There’s a difference between love and codependence. Between mercy and naïveté. Between generosity and giving the enemy a foothold.
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit differencemakers.substack.com
For generosity without discernment isn’t noble, it’s enablement.
So every morning, I pray. Not for success. Not for applause. Not even for justice. But for this:
A WFP Prayer for Leaders
Wisdom. Favour. Protection.
Lord, give me wisdom to see what my eyes miss, to know what my heart can’t yet discern, to pause long enough to hear You before I speak or act.
Grant me favour with the right people, in the right moments, for the right reasons. Not for my glory, but for Your purposes.
And cover me with protection from the wicked and the worthless, from flattery that flatters itself, from partnerships dressed as promises but seeded in pride.
Let me be generous like You. Lavish in grace, but never reckless with what is holy.
Amen.
This prayer isn’t just a rote daily rhythm. It’s a spiritual survival strategy in a world full of smiling predators and well-dressed parasites and the lies that can so easily trip me up.
This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit differencemakers.substack.com