Comfortable Christianity

One of the comforts to which I cling, vacationing in Destin, Florida. 

Last night my attention was riveted by a speaker who talked about American Christianity and why others aren't coming to Christ.  She pointed out that we American Christians will follow Christ as long as we are comfortable. When commitment to Him asks us to give up our things or our pleasures, we back off. 

The result is that others see a "Christ-less Christianity." We don't resemble the one we say we serve, because we serve only to a point. God can't shine His light through us, because we unscrew our light bulbs, so to speak. The circuit is incomplete, and the beauty and winsomeness which is part of the Lord Jesus never gets seen by those who don't know Him.

I thought about this last night as I climbed onto my feather-bed-topped mattress with its soft sheets and down comforter. My husband had just turned off the large flat screen television that faces the bed. The air conditioner blew gently, though it wasn't really hot outside. We just wanted to get the humidity out. He read by an attractive bedside light, while I played "Words with Friends" on my iPhone. 

We are not wealthy at all by American standards. We don't have a house at the lake, though we have many generous friends who do. There are so many things that we could look at and say, "We don't have that!" We have chosen contentment over lavishness in retirement. Despite all this, we are like other Americans, in that we crave our comforts.

What if Jesus is asking us, as He asked the rich, young ruler in Luke 18, to give up that which we hold most dear? The things and the comfort are not wrong in themselves. They are destructive when they get in the way of our relationship with God. They are a rock thrown into the gears of our usefulness to God.. They dim the attractiveness of Jesus in us, when His goal is that we joyfully present Jesus in all His beauty to those who are living desperate lives without Him.We are given the privilege of throwing ropes to those drowning around us, and we sit on the shore under a beach umbrella. 

Lord, I want to give all that I have to you, including those things that make me feel comfortable. I want to be a lighthouse that sends out a life saving beam, not one that turns off its light because it hurts my own eyes. I am so guilty of putting myself before you. I say I love you, but what I practice speaks so much louder. Help me. It's only you who can do this. And as you do, You promise me your joy and your peace. And those other things begin to look like cheap rhinestones next to the brilliant diamond of who you are.