We all want to be comfortable.
I’ve been on an endless quest for almost 20 years to make sure my bed is the most comfortable place on the planet. We cycled through pillows, toppers, sheets, duvets, and mattresses. There are so many options and so much to try.
Most of us want our lives to be like I want my bed: comfortable.
When you consider our common desire to be comfortable it’s quite odd to note that the greatest advances in our lives often come when we are uncomfortable.
When you got that diagnosis it changed your diet and you finally lost that twenty pounds you’d needed to lose.
When that traumatic event happened in your marriage it forced you to recon with some decisions and patterns that had been neglected and you started taking steps towards fulfillment and satisfaction in your relationship.
A few years ago I lost a lot of weight and started working out. I was approaching my 40th birthday at the time, so I set some goals. I smashed the goals. It was only after I was in car crash and suffered a major concussion (and spent two weeks out of it) that I started to realize how much I need to focus on my health.
Even though it’s undeniably counterproductive for our wellbeing, we still push towards comfort.
We do this with our spiritual lives, too.
We know we need to grow. Nothing stays the same, and when we trying to stay the same we only go backwards.
We need to grow, but we want to stay comfortable.
That doesn’t work.
In this season of life, we’ve all been uncomfortable. Living through a pandemic has been remarkably difficult. We’ve had to radically adjust our lives to adapt to the changes that have happened in our local communities.
When you’re uncomfortable you want to get comfortable.
I remember camping as a kid. Inevitably I’d put my sleeping bag over a root or a rock. All night long I’d twist and turn to get comfortable.
That’s how many of us are dealing with this season. It’s been uncomfortable, and we’re trying to get comfortable.
You know what? You don’t want to be comfortable at church.
I’m not suggesting that you need to put yourself at risk if you’re vulnerable. I’m not admonishing you to handle snakes as a sign of faith. I’m not even asking you to sing if that’s not your thing (although I think singing together is powerful portion of a church service).
I’m telling you that you don’t want a comfortable church.
Why? Because you won’t grow.
Faith is designed to move, to advance, and to grow. Faith is not designed to sit still. You can’t be a Christian and sit on the sidelines.
If you’re tired of feeling uncomfortable, I identify with you. I’m there with you. I’m worn down and tired of it all. That doesn’t change what we need.
We need a faith that moves us, and that kind of faith thrives in an environment where we embrace a holy discomfort.