High school probably went one of two ways for you. Perhaps those years were gold-tinged glory days that you smile back on with your friends over coffee, or maybe for you, it was the equivalent of being trapped in a den of wolves for four years. Like so many unfortunate others, the latter experience was mine. As an introverted freshman, I had trouble making friends, preferring to curl up with a book while everyone else did whatever it is “normal” teenagers do on Saturday nights. My sophomore year and onward I was seduced into a dark dance with anorexia, and my senior year contained the emergence of Major Depressive Disorder. By the time I reached college, I would look to the heavens and ask if enough was enough. After all of the suffering I had been through, didn't I deserve a break? Hadn't I earned the comfort of a smooth college career and a tranquil “happily ever after?”
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| Photo Credit: F Romero |
Everyone yearns for comfort, whether it is of a mental, physical, or materialistic nature; it is an instinctual human reflex to avoid pain and seek pleasure. When we are not challenged, however, we have a way of being lulled into complacency, and become numb to God's urging for us to venture out of our safe havens.
Revelation 3:14-22 is a letter from God to the church of Laodicea, with the apostle John as the middle-man. Historically, Laodicea was one of the most comfortable cities in Asia Minor, known for its financial prosperity, luxurious fashions, and excellent medicine. Ironically enough, the city did not possess the most basic of all human needs: a water source. When we slip into the apathy of worldly comforts, we may have an abundance of food and a secure job and a house in a safe neighborhood, but if we do not seek Christ, the living water and indeed, the most basic and crucial of human needs, what good is our cushy lifestyle?
God tells the church of Laodicea: “So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you from my mouth. You say, 'I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.' But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” (Rev. 3:16-17). This might seem harsh at first glance, but our God always speaks in a perfect balance of grace and truth: “For those whom I love, I rebuke and discipline.” (Rev. 3:19). While God certainly hates to see any of us miserable, the Scripture warns us of how physical comfort can breed spiritual stagnation. Perhaps in our own eyes we are prosperous and knowledgeable, but spiritually we are stumbling fools, naked and blind.
If Christ were to walk into our church today, undoubtedly the assessment would be that we are mirroring the mistakes our brothers and sisters in Laodicea made centuries ago. We are far too comfortable: in our material situations, in our interactions with each other, and in our deeply entrenched beliefs. Our financial security hinders us from taking unnecessary risks. In an attempt to keep the peace with others, we sacrifice opportunities to nudge each other toward Christ. When we are put in a position that challenges our beliefs, we shrink from the chance to grow, and we hide in the safety of the status quo.
Personally, the moments that I felt God's presence the strongest were during my most uncomfortable moments. The turbulent years of high school are behind me. Medication, therapy, and support from family and friends has helped me to better control my mental illness. I found my way back to God, was baptized, and go to church nearly every Sunday. My grades are good. I have a promising job. I have made many wonderful friends. I have finally acquired the comfort that I so desperately yearned for years ago. I am grateful, certainly, but I will admit to you that I cling to these comforts too tightly.
It is so easy to kneel in prayer when it is the world that drives you to your knees. We go to God so willingly when we are afraid, when we are weak, when we are depressed, when we are lonely. In our suffering, we are closer to God because we are actively seeking our Heavenly Father out. Why isn't this desire as strong when we are content and life is being kind? I often am guilty of saying something along these lines: “Okay God, thank you so much for getting me here, but I don't really need anything right now. I'm all good. Talk to you later.”
Our thirst is so falsely quenched by earthly comforts that we do not notice our souls are running dry; we need the living water of Christ to be truly nourished. This doesn't mean that we should actively seek discomfort. We don't have to give away all of our material possessions or force ourselves to suffer. Instead, we should remember the desperation for God we felt when we were suffering, and pursue God with equal fervor even when we are not. We should live each day as if we have never tasted the living water before.
[Abby Hocking is a senior at Calvin College, where she studies psychology and writing. She is employed at Pine Rest Christian Mental Services and plans to become a therapist. Abby is a proud literature nerd, running addict, and puppy enthusiast. She thanks God daily for her wonderful family, her loving friends, and for 21 Pilots.]
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