I stepped into the venue a bit drunk from a very heavy dinner. It was a special day, my first day in my new company. I had succeeded in entering the organisation I admired, to do a role I desired. The compensation was great, and I knew the people there who would make the job a really good workplace.
Two weeks prior, I had my first long break in years. I spent my time doing what I loved the most. Reading, perfecting my swim technique, practicing jazz piano, cycling new roads around the island, hanging out with close friends. Though I ran myself ragged at times squeezing too many activities into a day, I was thoroughly satisfied with life. Nothing needed to change.
Until that night, when Denesh spoke: “I’d bet that 90% of your objections to full-time paid ministry are due to fear or comfort, or a mix of both.” Fear of what would come and whether we’d cope. Love for comfort and the good life. He posited that most of us were likely to be seen by our friends and families as having respectable jobs and leading enviable lives.
To make things even more attractive, we had nothing searing our conscience, as we had done our best, given our free time to do church work. Leading studies, serving others. We gave financially, and tried our best to help where we could.
But rarely did we give sacrificially. Barely did we love our enemies. And unwillingly we would be to give up the respect owed when listing our illustrious careers, photographs, or any inkling of our occupations. We want our cake, and we want to eat it too.
On days that I’m bored, I’d sometimes dig into my past; look at people who I once considered close friends. Read abandoned blogs and pull up snapshots of time gone by. One would naturally feel some sadness, especially when the trail goes cold, and we don’t know what has happened to the person. Many go offline because they aren’t doing too well.
I was surprised when I found myself shaking off the melancholy by looking at what I had now – the new, relevant, and real. I’d swing the door open and find my smiling wife and give her a hug as an appreciation and embrace of the tangible present, which is infinitely better.
A part of it definitely makes sense, for I can only appreciate who and what I currently have. Yet looking at current circumstances and privileges betrays a love for my current life. What I had learnt in Romans, about God’s incredible mercy, and about the privilege to be unashamed, participating in God’s grand salvation plan was not something that came easily to me.
And whenever my mother tells me of each so-and-so from my home church who has upgraded their life or had any noteworthy achievements, I couldn’t help but be peeved and think, “is there all there is?” Not out of jealousy I think, but it seemed almost irksome that Christians around seemed to always be pursuing life upgrades. Yet here I was.
The truth is, I have never seen anyone who was successful in the world, and who was also sold out for the gospel. As written ad nauseam previously, I had encountered a lot of wonderful well-behaved and well-mannered Christians who you’d think as ‘godly’. But it always seemed that godly talk was a special sacred language they were adept at speaking at certain conventions, but not in other areas of their life.
They were never sold out for the gospel – making difficult and counter-cultural decisions for the sake of gospel proclamation. They excelled at being a great support in church, but also a connoisseur of the good things in life. I must stress that these are not necessarily opposed. What I’m insisting is empirical and anecdotal: I have never seen. Make of that what you will.
However, to insist that we should be counter-cultural as a rule is as pharisaical as one can get. That is no different from finding another means of distinguishing ourselves socially – to be successfully godly in the midst of terrible Christians. That is not the point.
The point is that God expects believers to be sold out for the gospel. The key is that Jesus demands everything of us – that foxes have holes and birds have nests but the son of man has nowhere to rest. Jesus conveys an expectation of what life will be like following him, not a fact of our actual assets, that we’d must be homeless. To be sold out is not about what we have, but about what we do about what we have because of who we are. My concern should not be interpreted as cultivating an aversion to anything remotely expensive or luxurious, but about whether I still believe the truth. It’s not about the amount of money I have in my bank, but an awareness of how that affects my heart, and how much I realise that if I were being honest, it all makes the words of Jesus slide by smoothly with little effect.
And anecdotally, again, I have never seen a Christian who had everything but who was still sold out for the Gospel.
Taking an honest look at my life. I had nothing to offer but excuses for why I had delayed thinking seriously about full-time Christian ministry. While that is not the means to be ‘sold out’, I realised I was trained, and I had much more desire to proclaim the word than others. The only thing that held me back was my love for comfort. I realised that for all my life, I had never sacrificed anything for the gospel. Slight inconveniences are not sacrifices. I struggle to be faithful when my life is smooth sailing.
At the core of it is about what we believe to be true. Is the future really infinitely more glorious and beautiful than what I see now? Is the approval of King Jesus really the greatest thing to seek? Are our heavenly possessions worth anything at all?
“But many who are first will be last, and the last first.” Mark 10:31
fatpine 