Growing up, competition was simply part of the air I breathed. I had siblings who approached family game nights as if their life depended on depleting all of my Monopoly resources. I played sports in a town that granted celebrity status to successful athletes and made sure to let you know if you fell short of expectations. My closest friends and I were constantly jockeying for the highest GPA (I know, teacher’s pet…gross). I spent many years living with the assumption that achievement wasn’t just encouraged–it was expected.
So, as a product of that environment, for as long as I can remember, I’ve been wired to strive. Whether it was grades, sports, or–later in life–ministry, I pushed myself hard and even found a certain thrill in chasing accolades and hearing words of approval. But somewhere along the way, my striving started to define me, and my sense of worth became tangled up in how well I performed. Even in my spiritual life (perhaps especially there) I started to carry that same restless drive.I wanted to be the most faithful, the most disciplined, the most fruitful Christian I could be.
Now don’t get me wrong, that drive can accomplish a lot of good and even put a lot of trophies on a shelf (trophies that are currently collecting dust in my attic). But it’s also a dangerous way to live the Christian life if it doesn’t flow from the right motivation. It’s a way to find ourselves discouraged, exhausted, and completely defeated in a race that we were never called to run in our own strength.
You see, the gospel calls us into a rhythm that seems paradoxical: we labor, but we labor from rest. We strive, but not in our own strength. We press on, but it’s Christ who holds us fast.
The Apostle Paul captures this mysterious tension so clearly in Colossians 1:29 as he speaks of his laboring for the sake of the gospel: “For this I toil, struggling with all [Christ’s] energy that he powerfully works within me.” This verse refuses to let us fall into either of two extremes. On the one hand, the Christian life isn’t passive. It is striving. Paul says, “I toil” – He works, he sweats, he suffers for the sake of the gospel. The Christian life, described as a race, involves real discipline and effort. We are called to fight sin, to stand firm in and contend for truth, to love people when it’s costly, to serve when it’s inconvenient. There’s no escaping that.
But on the other hand, Paul knows that none of his effort originates in himself. The power that sustains his work isn’t his own, it’s Christ’s. The energy that keeps him going comes from the Spirit’s presence in him. He’s a vessel, not the source. He’s an instrument in the hands of a faithful God. So am I. So are you.
And that changes everything.
Because when I forget this truth, I start living as though God’s mission depends on me, on my planning or preaching or parenting or performing. I start to measure my spiritual
life the same way I used to measure success growing up: by how much I can achieve. I try to prove my faith through effort rather than express it through dependence. And it doesn’t take long for the engine of that self-effort train to burn out and fail.
Maybe you know that feeling too. You love Jesus, but you’re tired. You want to be faithful, but your soul feels worn thin. You’ve tried to serve, lead, and love well, but somewhere along the way, the joy that used to fuel your obedience has dissolved into a state of exhaustion or defeat.
That’s where the words of this song provide such comfort and refreshment.
“To this I hold, my hope is only Jesus, For my life is wholly bound to His. Oh how strange and divine, I can sing: all is mine! Yet not I, but through Christ in me.”
It truly is strange and divine to think of all that is mine in Christ apart from my striving. Think of the gifts this song speaks of that are ours in Jesus: redemption, joy, righteousness, freedom, peace, defense, victory, perseverance (Talk about there being no more for heaven now to give!). Christian, you run the race of faith from the position of all those gifts already being yours. From the moment your life was bound to Christ’s by faith, they were yours. In fact, before you ever even thought to reach for them, the Father planned to give them all to you in his Son. Rest in the riches of Christ.
And from that rest, run! That kind of trust doesn’t lead to passivity. It leads to peace-filled perseverance. It frees us to labor hard without turning our labor into a measure of our worth. It allows us to strive and rest at the same time, to run the race without the anxiety of self-reliance.
When we live from that place of rest, our toil becomes worship. We begin to see that even our perseverance is a gift of grace. Every prayer prayed in weakness, every act of love offered when we’d rather retreat, every step of obedience taken when faith feels small, each is powered by Christ’s life in us.
So if your soul is weary and your feet don’t feel like they can take one more step in this race, remember: you are not running alone. In weakness, in need, in the hardest battles and deepest valleys, Christ isn’t just walking beside you – Christ Himself is running in you. The Spirit who raised Jesus from the dead is sustaining you even now. And day by day he will renew your strength and your joy until HE brings you home, just as He promised.
Written by: Joel Zook, lead pastor at Southview Grace Brethren Church