What if It’s Not Easy?
by Gary Thomas
Any movement that stresses Christlikeness comes with a cost. While we often laud Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s classic The Cost of Discipleship, I sometimes wonder how many Christians still read it and, even more, how many truly believe it. What I’m about to say may sound like heresy, but I believe it will be truth medicine for Christ-followers: character transformation, though dependent on grace and God’s empowerment, requires a lot of hard work, vigilant oversight, rigorous thought, self-discipline, and a life marked by repentance. It also entails surrendering to a God who is more concerned with our character than with our comfort.

I want to encourage you, but I also want to be honest. If you think the Beautiful Fight is an easy life, you’ve been misled. Yes, Jesus said, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light,” but he also said, “Take up [your] cross,” and “In this world you will have trouble” (Matthew 11:30; 16:24; John 16:33).

R. Somerset Ward (1881–1962), one of the Anglican Church’s most influential spiritual directors, asks a question that spiritual theologians have wrestled with for ages:

“How comes it that saints are still looked upon as a class apart instead of being normal examples of membership of the church? The answer to that question is to be found in the cost of sainthood. It cannot be too often or too clearly proclaimed that Christianity is something for which a big price has to be paid. When all around us the air is full of vague rumors of a newfound faith which is free of effort and tolerant of everything save toil and pain, it is time to speak out boldly and to say that true Christianity is the most costly possession in the world, that it still knows but one road, which leads over Calvary, and still has but one symbol, which is a cross. If a saint is one who approximates to the life of Christ, it is self-evident that he is one who suffers in the endeavor to come to God. There were many ways in which our Lord could have saved the world, but he was limited in his choice, for God can but choose “the best,” and the way he chose was the way of suffering, of hard discipline, and severe tests. The man and the woman who are not prepared to pay this price cannot attain the profession of sainthood to which they are called.”

Others will try to tell you there’s an easier way. This message is precisely what Ward warns us about when he writes that “all around us the air is full of vague rumors of a newfound faith which is free of effort and tolerant of everything save toil and pain.”

The reason I receive Ward’s admonition as an encouraging invitation is because I’ve experienced the other side. I’ve come to realize that when I refuse to face the pain of transformation, eventually I must endure the misery of my immaturity. I can drive like a Christian, or I can fork over hundreds of dollars for traffic fines. I can eat and drink in moderation, or I can spend time in a hospital. I can be selfless and loving toward my family, or I can endure the cold scorn and lack of respect of my wife and kids.

I have found, from far more experience than I care to admit, that sin overpromises and underdelivers. It shouts its promises but then mockingly reneges on its pledge. Obedience whispers its alternative but then shouts its affirmation.

Just talk to an addict who must spend more energy than you can imagine trying to avoid a self-destructive response to any number of life “triggers.” Look into the eyes of two hurting spouses whose sin has destroyed their family. Spend just five minutes in the presence of a pastor whose sin has been exposed and who has lost much respect and his vocation, ministry, and reputation.

Words can hardly describe such agony. We’ve all felt it in our own ways and at our own levels. The truth is, sin eventually makes us feel miserable. The best way to unleash stress in our lives is to rebel against God’s plan. The surest path to unrest is ungodliness. There is no greater weight we must bear than the heaviness of our own sinful choices. Whether our unrestrained anger leads us to a heart attack, our unrestrained greed leads us to debt, our unrestrained passions threaten our family, or our unrestrained appetites threaten to cut short our lives, the result is always the same — misery, frustration, and angst.

I love John Piper’s concise take on this: “Not knowing God puts you at the mercy of your passions — and they have no mercy without God.” Or Charles Spurgeon’s insight: “To be a believer in God early in life is to be saved a thousand regrets.” Or, even better, God’s word of truth: “‘There is no peace,’ says the LORD, ‘for the wicked’” (Isaiah 48:22).

Having faced the personal misery and relational pain of doing things my way, having experienced the futility of living life to be noticed, and having carried the heavy burden of making pleasure my idol, I’m far more willing to pay the price for transformation. There’s pain in either direction. I may as well embrace the pain that leads me to God instead of suffer the pain of being drawn away from him.

So I hope you’ll take these words as an encouragement. Pain in this world is a foregone conclusion. The only question is whether we choose to live a life of redemptive pain or of self-destructive pain. I pray you’ll choose redemptive pain.

From The Beautiful Fight: Surrendering to the Transforming Presence of God Every Day of Your Life by Gary Thomas