There’s something especially exhausting about watching these charismatic blowhards deliver their “prophetic visions” with all the fire and certainty of Jeremiah… only to realize it’s just Fox News meets Sunday school.
Hank Kunneman takes the stage, eyes blazing, voice booming—he’s got that urgent tremble in his voice like he’s about to reveal the fifth horseman. But what comes out?
Not repentance.
Not Christ crucified.
Not a word from the Lord on sin, justice, or mercy. No—God, apparently, has just now spoken to Hank about Venezuelan oil.
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Now, to be fair, he doesn’t claim the oil belongs to himself or even to America. At least not directly. No, the line is: “The oil is mine, says the Lord.” Which… okay. Sure. That’s Psalm 24:1 with a geopolitical twist.
But here’s the problem. Kunneman doesn’t say it like he’s quoting Scripture. He says it like God whispered it in his ear backstage before the set started. He says it like he’s the delivery system for a fresh revelation.
And that’s the scam.
Everything belongs to God. Yes. That’s theology 101. It’s not prophecy—it’s a verse you could find in an Awana handbook. But Hank doesn’t present it that way. He drapes it in music and lights and urgency and emotion, fusing it with current events like he’s heaven’s official war correspondent.
It’s the standard charismatic bait-and-switch. You take something everyone already believes, wrap it in the language of immediacy, and imply that God is speaking to you directly, right now, in real time.
He’s not.
At least not like that.
What Kunneman is doing isn’t prophecy—it’s a performance.
It’s performance theology with a patriotic core and a thin spiritual veneer. He weaponizes the language of divine ownership to backfill current events with credibility. He wants you to believe that what’s happening in Venezuela isn’t just political strategy or economic interest—but a cosmic struggle—and that he, Hank, has been briefed by God Himself.
And that’s the real problem. Not that he says the oil belongs to God. But that he pretends God said it to him.
Because once you accept that fiction, you stop asking for chapter and verse and start waiting for Hank’s next download. And before long, the only pipeline you’re following isn’t in Venezuela—it’s the one that leads from his mouth to your wallet. Or worse—your soul.
This isn’t prophecy. It’s cosplay.
It’s a guy playing prophet, reading headlines, and mistaking the voice in his head for the voice from heaven.
Because if God actually had something to say about Venezuela, He’d probably be talking about the gospel. Not the oil rigs.
Make a 
