From Pressure To Trust
Let’s cut to the chase...
The “mission” most of us inherited—whether from a pulpit, a podcast, or that one well-meaning aunt with a WWJD bumper sticker—sounded simple enough:
Love God. Love others. Change the world.
It’s on books, websites, vision walls, t-shirts. It feels like the point—holy, even.
But quietly, it turns faith into something you’re supposed to achieve:
Love God—with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. All the time.
Love your neighbor—yes, even that one. Do it well. With joy.
Change the world—be the light, lead the way, leave a legacy.
These became the pillars that built the machine:
Sermons to hand you principles
Worship to recharge your effort
Small groups to help you love better
Disciplines to shape your behavior
Leadership pipelines to help you do more—better, faster
But this isn’t the life of faith Jesus gave us.
It’s a pressure system with a Jesus sticker on it.
Trying to love perfectly makes us more self-conscious.
Trying to serve constantly leaves us resentful.
Trying to change the world makes us anxious and frustrated.
Because here’s the twist:
Jesus never called us to those three things.
Wait—didn’t He say “love God and love your neighbor”?
Yes. But not how you think.
When a Pharisee asked Jesus in Matthew 22,
“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”
Jesus answered with what we now quote on mugs and mission statements.
But He wasn’t simplifying the Law to make it doable.
He was summarizing the Law to help us give up.
“All your heart?”
“All your soul?”
“All your strength?”
All the time?
Who’s pulling that off? Not me. Not you. Not even Paul.
That’s why Paul later calls the Law a guardian (Galatians 3:24)—
a hallway escort keeping us safe “until Christ came.”
But once He did, Paul says in verse 25:
“We are no longer under a guardian.”
Clinging to the Law now—as if it can shape us into what only grace can—is like insisting on a car seat when you’ve already got a license.
So What Did Jesus Call Us To?
Let’s rewind to John 6. The crowd asks:
“What must we do to be doing the works of God?” (v. 28)
The ultimate setup for a spiritual checklist. And Jesus doesn’t blink:
“This is the work of God: that you believe in the one He has sent.” (v. 29)
Not strive.
Not love harder.
Not change the world.
Just: Trust Me.
He even doubles down a few verses later:
“This is the will of Him who sent me: that everyone who looks to the Son and believes in Him shall have eternal life.” (v. 40)
Want to know God’s will?
It’s not about doing more or becoming like Jesus.
It’s about trusting who Jesus already is—for you, and for everyone else.
“Your life is now hidden with Christ in God.” – Colossians 3:3
“He is our righteousness, holiness...” – 1 Corinthians 1:30
Faith isn’t about what you can prove. It’s about where you look.
“We walk by faith, not by sight.” – 2 Corinthians 5:7
So Why is that Truth Buried?
Because we live in a world seeking a control, one where:
Sin is defined as rule-breaking
Faith is defined as moral success
Freedom is always one more improvement away
But Romans 14:23 flips the whole thing on its head:
“Whatever is not from faith is sin.”
Which means the opposite of sin... isn’t virtue. It’s faith.
But because we don’t see that—faith gets rebranded as performance.
Some call it hustle. Others call it holiness.
Either way, it’s just the project of self, dressed up in spiritual language.
So how do you know if something’s really faith… or just more religious noise?
Ask yourself:
Does this invite dependence on Jesus—or pressure to do more?
Does this bring relief—or more striving?
Does this strip away your illusion of control—or reinforce it?
Because the life Jesus actually gave us isn’t a climb. It’s a collapse—right into the arms of grace.
A Backyard Parable
Maybe the best picture of that struggle is in my own backyard.
We have chickens. Well, hens. One of them—Chippy—gets broody.
Convinced she’s hatching a family, she sits in the nesting box all day, fluffed up, sweating, refusing food and water.
Problem is? The eggs aren’t fertilized.
There’s nothing to hatch.
But she’s in too deep.
She thinks she’s doing what she was made to do.
Bringing life to the world.
And unless we carry her out of the coop and lock the door behind her…
She’ll die in that box.
In good, earnest faith.
To a lie.
Like Chippy, we’ve been taught to sit in the heat of our own religious effort.
Sacrificing joy, connection, and even our health in the name of a faith that demands more and delivers less.
We think we’re being faithful.
But we’re just stuck—
Brooding on empty promises,
Calling it faith,
Dying in boxes we were never meant to stay in.
The solution?
We don’t need to be better hens.
We need to be carried out of the coop.
Out of fear.
Out of performance.
Out of the lie that following Jesus means transcending our humanity—
When it actually means learning to trust within it.