The statistics surrounding the “great dechurching” of the past 25 years have given rise to commentary and concern, with speculation about the many reasons people drift away from church affiliation.
Some may want to celebrate the endurance of those who still attend church regularly, but I don’t think even that picture should inspire optimism. I suspect a large number of those who still belong to a church family may not hold to all their church teaches but instead treat church membership as an accessory to a life primarily devoted to pursuits unrelated to Christ’s kingdom and mission.
Not long ago, I was talking with a friend about some deep conversations he’d been having with a member of his church. You wouldn’t know from the outside that the man was anything other than a devoted and active member. And yet, in personal conversation, my friend was surprised to discover his fellow church member quietly dismissed several of the church’s core doctrinal positions. He accepted sexual immorality outside the bounds of historic Christian teaching and denied eternal judgment.
“I just think our church is wrong on that stuff . . . but I love being here for the community.”
That was the attitude. The man viewed the church as a successful dispenser of religious goods and services, while true conviction and commitment on his part were lacking.
When Christianity Never Rubs You the Wrong Way
The question my friend felt compelled to ask his fellow church member was this: Is there anything you believe as a Christian that’s hard for you? In other words, Is there any Christian teaching you submit to even if it makes you uncomfortable?
This is a crucial question because, rightly understood, Christianity should rub up against everyone’s sensibilities at some point or another. In many places in the West, it’s natural for the tension points to cluster around sexual ethics or the exclusivity of Christ for salvation. In other parts of the world, the friction may fall elsewhere. But friction there will be. In every generation, Christians have wrestled with Jesus’s hard sayings and the implications of discipleship.
Even now, some who affirm orthodoxy—hell, the Trinity, biblical marriage—may look for loopholes in orthopraxy when scriptural commands collide with political expediency. The Bible’s warnings about wealth, the call to mercy, the compassion we’re to show to the vulnerable—these teachings often challenge our cultural or political instincts. If there’s no point at which Scripture impinges on your personal or political views—if you can easily explain away the Sermon on the Mount or reinterpret Jesus’s parables to conveniently shrink the circle of Christian love—then it’s worth asking, Where do my deepest convictions really lie?
If everything about our Christianity comes easy to us, it’s not Christianity as Jesus preached it. Because Jesus himself described the way of the kingdom as hard. As Augustine said when countering Faustus’s heresy,
To believe what you please, and not to believe what you please, is to believe yourselves, and not the gospel.
The Cross We Never Pick Up
We should test ourselves. Do we pledge our allegiance to God as he truly is, or do we settle for fashioning a god of our own imagination? Are we shaving off the rough edges of his revelation to suit our preferences? Or are we willing to submit to what he says about himself—even when we don’t understand (or don’t want to)?
These questions matter. If we’re not willing to submit to God’s revelation when it’s difficult, we won’t be willing to do what he asks when his will for our lives makes us uncomfortable.
“Take up your cross” and “follow your dream” don’t exactly go together. If “follow your dream” is your baseline, the church will become an assistant in helping you achieve your goals, not a family devoted to God’s kingdom promises.
So much of what Christianity teaches is uncomfortable. Turning the other cheek doesn’t come naturally. Giving to the one who begs seems silly. Lifelong fidelity to marriage vows seems impossible. Prioritizing others’ interests above our own seems foolish. Gathering weekly for worship feels excessive. Forgiving—again and again—seems naive. The threat of eternal fire sounds far-fetched. The uniqueness of Jesus as Savior feels narrow.
My hunch is that many churchgoers quietly enjoy the benefits of an easy Christianity—a version that dispenses with commands, requires little effort in obedience, and celebrates a cross we may wear but never bear. We want the gift of the cross without the call of the cross.
In contrast, Jesus said, “Take my yoke upon you.” Yes, his yoke is easy, and his burden is light, thanks to the Spirit’s presence and power. But Christian freedom still involves a yoke. No longer slaves to sin, we’re now slaves of Christ.
The Rock That Doesn’t Budge
Many churches are all too happy to accommodate this accessorized version of faith, softening the edges of doctrine and minimizing the discomfort of discipleship. But storms always come. Winds always blow. And when they do, it won’t be the house on sand that stands.
The sandy foundation—endlessly adaptable to our tastes and preferences—won’t survive. It’s the house built on rock that endures. Unmovable. Unshaken. A foundation that must be reckoned with, not reshaped around us.
So let’s ask ourselves:
Is there nothing about our faith that feels hard?
Nothing about Christian teaching that makes us uncomfortable?
If we can’t think of anything, then we should consider whether what we’ve embraced is the rugged reality of Christianity—or one of the many easy counterfeits always on offer.
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