Has Comfort Killed the Weight of the Cross?
Comfort is something everybody seeks. We all desire ease—security, rest, familiarity. And rightly so. There is a kind of comfort that is a gift from God—like peace in the storm or rest for the weary. But there is another kind of comfort that is dangerous: the comfort that numbs conviction, quiets urgency, and silences compassion.
It is painful to see that many Christians have drifted into
that comfort—living without the weight of burden, urgency, or responsibility
for the gospel. Comfort has become their calling, not the cross.
I have often looked around in church gatherings or among
believing communities and felt this ache in my heart. The prayers sound
polished, but passion is absent. The worship is loud, but hearts remain still.
The Word is preached, but lives stay untouched. And I wonder: Have we not
grown too comfortable to truly follow Jesus Christ?
When Jesus walked by the Sea of Galilee and called Peter and
Andrew to follow Him, they left their nets immediately (Matthew 4:19–20). They
didn’t just leave their livelihood—they left their comfort, their familiar
routines, their plans for the future. To follow the Rabbi meant to adopt His
burdens, live under His discipline, and share in His mission.
As Jewish saying goes, true disciple walked so closely
behind the rabbi that they were said to be “covered in the dust of his feet.”
Today, how many of us would still choose to walk that closely? To share in
Christ’s mission and burden?
When Jesus said, “If anyone would come after me, let him
deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me” (Luke 9:23), He wasn’t
speaking in metaphor. He meant the hard path. The burdened life. The
dying-to-self. The giving-of-all. And yet today, we often redefine discipleship
to mean attending Sunday service and avoiding shame.
The early disciples followed their Master until
death—literally. Every one of them bore burdens that crushed their comfort.
They laboured and suffered because their hearts were seized by something
greater than comfort: the call of the Kingdom.
Today, many Christians do not seem to carry this burden
anymore. The zeal once evident in prayer, in tears, in sacrifice—is quietly fading.
Now, we are content with a little devotion. A little giving. A little holiness.
We measure ourselves by church attendance and giving, not by surrendered lives.
We say we know Jesus, but our lifestyle often denies it
(Titus 1:16). We have knowledge, but no longing. We have access to Scripture,
but little engagement with it. We are surrounded by opportunities to serve, yet
many opt for convenience.
What has happened to us?
We were never promised a comforting life. In fact, Jesus
warned that following Him would mean trouble, rejection, and hardship. He did
not promise luxury, but love. He did not promise ease, but eternity. He called
us to carry the cross—not just wear it around our necks.
Yet today, many thinks that Christianity should make life
easier, not holier.
Comfort, when left unchecked, creates indifference. It blurs
the lines between right and wrong. We stop being disturbed by sin. We stop
confronting darkness. We stop mourning over lost souls.
Comfort takes the fire out of our prayers. Prayer becomes
something we fit in—if we have time. Many pray not out of hunger for God, but
out of obligation. We say grace, not gratitude. We offer words, not worship.
And slowly, our prayers lose power.
Comfort also silences the Word of God in our lives. With so
many digital tools and devotionals available, we assume we’re being fed. But
consumption is not the same as communion. We scroll more than we search the
Scriptures. We read more tweets than truth. And slowly, we forget the voice of
the Shepherd.
Comfort isolates us from people too. True fellowship becomes
replaced by polite greetings and handshakes at the door. The church and
fellowships become a schedule, not a family. We smile, but do not share. We
serve, but do not sacrifice. We attend, but do not connect.
And when the Spirit pushes us to step out—to share the
gospel, to reach the hurting, to speak the truth—we hesitate. Because it’s
risky. Because it’s inconvenient. Because we’re too comfortable.
Even ministers and leaders are not exempt. Many who once
burned with vision and passion now seem tired, distracted, or resigned. The
routines of ministry have replaced the reason for ministry. Vision fades when
comfort dominates. Passion grows cold when burden disappears.
But our God is still a visionary God. He still sees the
harvest. He still sends workers. He still seeks worshipers. And He still calls.
Years ago, we were eager to go out for the sake of the
gospel. Now, the unreached are coming to us—yet we remain indifferent. Are we
still waiting for convenience before we obey?
We need a deep awakening. We need to return to the place
where ‘what breaks God’s heart breaks ours’. We need to remember that the
gospel is not merely good advice—it is life and death. It is the power of God
unto salvation.
Yes, salvation is a free gift—but it was never meant to make
us comfortable. It was meant to make us surrendered. It comes with a calling:
to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow Jesus—not at a distance, but
closely, daily, completely (Luke 9:23; Romans 12:1).
We are called to walk with the Spirit, not according to the
ease of the flesh. We are called to labour in prayer, to speak with boldness,
to give with sacrifice, and to live with conviction. We are called to live
beyond comfort—for the sake of Christ who gave up His.
Imagine if the believers of this generation carried even a
portion of the burden the early Church carried. Imagine if we burned again with
urgency, prayed again with groaning, loved again with sacrifice. The gospel
would not just spread—it would shake the foundations.
Yes, it might invite persecution. But persecution has always
purified the Church. It strengthens faith. It proves love. It exposes idols.
And it brings revival. Christian communities would be marked by compassion and
unity. Churches would be sanctuaries of truth and fire. The world would see—not
a religion, but a people who carry the cross with joy and conviction.
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