Able

Songs like Phil Wickham’s “Able” have a way of taking a single, simple confession—“Who is able?”—and unfolding it like a map across the whole gospel story. As you listen, you hear a voice that moves from a question to a declaration: Jesus is able to save, to sustain, to break chains, to move mountains, to present us faultless before a holy God. That movement is not just lyricism; it’s deeply biblical. Think of Jude 24: “To him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you blameless before the presence of his glory…” —that verse almost sings back at the chorus. The song borrows the exact confidence Jude gives us: God is able to finish the good work He’s begun in us.

When the song asks, “Who is able, who can save me…to present me as faultless before a holy God,” Hebrews 7:25 comes to mind: Jesus “is able to save completely those who come to God through him, because he always lives to intercede for them.” The cross and resurrection are the answers to that question: “God, You freed me on a Friday…Then You raised me on a Sunday.” That recollection points straight to 1 Corinthians 15:3–4 and Romans 4:25—Christ died for our sins and was raised for our justification. The Friday and Sunday of the gospel are not merely historical events; they are the hinge of our hope. Because Christ died and rose, we can be forgiven and presented righteous in God’s presence.

The refrain “To Him who is able to do exceedingly, abundantly more than we could imagine” is almost a musical citation of Ephesians 3:20. It’s a beautiful reminder that God’s ability is not small, predictable, or limited by our plans. He works in ways beyond our imagination. That promise reshapes how we approach life’s problems: when the song says “From breaking chains to making ways / You move every mountain,” our minds should also go to Luke 4:18—Jesus came to proclaim release to the captives—and to Matthew 17:20, where faith, even as small as a mustard seed, is linked to moving mountains. The image of “breaking chains” recalls Isaiah 61:1—the year of the Lord’s favor—and the work of Christ to bind up the brokenhearted and set the oppressed free.

The lyrics “You will love me and sustain me / You will never leave my side / You will guide me and protect me every moment of my life” are restated promises throughout Scripture. Hebrews 13:5 assures us that God has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” Psalm 23 and Psalm 121 speak to God’s ongoing shepherding and watchful protection. Isaiah 43:2 pictures God going with us through the waters and fire; John 10:28–29 guarantees that no one can snatch us from the Shepherd’s hand. These aren’t abstract comforts—they’re the daily reality the song invites us into: a sustained, personal presence.

There’s also the posture of worship threaded through the bridge—“Now to Him be the glory forever and ever, amen; Crucified, risen and reigning and coming again.” That is the doxology of Revelation and the New Testament: see Revelation 5 and Philippians 2, where the name of Jesus is exalted and every knee will bow. The song’s final declarations are eschatological as well as present-tense: Jesus has been crucified, is risen, now reigns, and is coming again. That anchors our praise in history and hope. Because of who Jesus is and what He has done, we can confidently sing “Glory to God who is faithful.” Scripture reminds us of God’s faithfulness repeatedly (1 Thessalonians 5:24; Lamentations 3:22–23), and the song is an invitation to respond to that faithfulness with trust and worship.

So how do these truths change us? The song takes doctrinal certainties and gives them a pastoral voice. Instead of abstract creeds, we get a simple, confident prayer: “I know You will, oh Jesus You will.” That “I know” is the outcome of Scripture: we know God’s character (faithful, able, loving) and His acts (crucifixion, resurrection, intercession). Practically, this means when a “mountain” feels immovable—fear, addiction, grief, a fractured relationship—the appropriate spiritual posture is not frantic self-reliance but asking God to act, trusting He can do far more than we can imagine, while also taking the next step of faith the Spirit prompts. It means laying down the illusion that we must clean ourselves up before we come; the gospel is the opposite: Christ’s finished work presents us faultless. It means worshiping in the middle of uncertainty because worship itself declares the truth of who God is and aligns our hearts to His power.

If you’ve ever felt small in the face of a problem, or unworthy to stand before God, this song—and the Scriptures behind it—invites you to stand on the promises: God is able, Jesus has done it, and the Spirit sustains you each moment. It’s both comfort and a call to courage: to cast cares on Him (1 Peter 5:7), to ask boldly (Hebrews 4:16), to believe for the impossible (Mark 11:24), and to live in a way that returns glory to the One who is able.

So let me leave you with a question to sit with today: what mountain are you still trying to move by your own strength, and what would it look like for you to hand that mountain—right now—to the One whom Scripture and this song both declare “able,” trusting Him to do exceedingly, abundantly more than you can imagine?