The Power of Striving for What Matters Most

Have you ever been completely sold out for something? Maybe it was training for a marathon, pursuing a relationship, or chasing a career opportunity. That feeling of being all-in, fully committed, willing to sacrifice comfort for something you believe matters—that's striving.

Now imagine channeling that same intensity, that same unwavering commitment, toward something with eternal significance. What if we approached sharing the hope of Christ with the same dedication that we bring to our most passionate pursuits?

Finding Joy in Unexpected Places

The Apostle Paul wrote to the church at Colossae from a Roman prison, awaiting trial. Yet his words weren't filled with complaints or pleas for release. Instead, he wrote something counterintuitive: "Now I rejoice in what I am suffering for you."

Rejoicing in suffering? That doesn't make sense to our modern sensibilities. We avoid discomfort at all costs, seeking the path of least resistance. But Paul discovered something profound—suffering becomes bearable, even joyful, when it serves a greater purpose.

He wasn't suffering randomly or meaninglessly. His pain had direction. Every hardship he endured was advancing the gospel to people who desperately needed to hear it. He had been beaten, stoned, shipwrecked, and abandoned. Yet when he looked at his suffering, he saw beyond the immediate pain to the eternal impact.

This reveals a surprising truth: God has a way of converting the suffering of His people into blessing for others. When we're willing to endure hardship for the sake of the gospel, God multiplies that sacrifice in ways we cannot imagine.

The Mystery Now Revealed

For generations, there was a mystery hidden from humanity. The Jewish people awaited a Messiah who would crush the serpent's head, as promised in Genesis. The rest of the world carried an unexplainable longing, a God-sized hole in their hearts that nothing seemed to fill.

That mystery has now been revealed: Christ in you, the hope of glory.

This isn't just religious language. It's the answer to every restless heart, every unfulfilled dream, every attempt to find satisfaction in temporary things. The God who created the universe actually dwells in the hearts of those who believe. That is the richest gift imaginable.

Even Tom Brady, with three Super Bowl rings at the time of a famous interview, admitted: "Why do I have three Super Bowl rings and still think there's something greater out there for me? I mean, this can't be what it's all cracked up to be." When asked what the answer was, he replied, "I wish I knew."

But we do know. Every part of us that strives for more is met in the person of Jesus Christ. He is the satisfaction our souls crave, the purpose we desperately seek, the contentment that eludes us when we look everywhere else.

The Path to Spiritual Maturity

How do we grow in this reality? How do we become the people God calls us to be? Through two essential practices: admonishing and teaching.

Admonishing means to warn, counsel, and correct—steering someone away from error and back toward God's best. It's reactive, addressing issues as they arise. Teaching means imparting knowledge, doctrine, and instruction that forms us proactively, preparing us for what lies ahead.

We need both. Think about reading Scripture and suddenly feeling like it's reading you instead. The Holy Spirit highlights an area that needs correction. That's admonishing. Other times, we simply absorb truth about God's character and ways, building a foundation for future decisions. That's teaching.

Together, these practices make up the coin of spiritual maturity. We cannot have one without the other. We need God's Word to confront us where we are and to form us into who we're becoming.

This is why thirty minutes of church per week isn't enough. It's a start, but it's not the end. We need to feast on God's Word throughout the week so that when we gather together, it's like enjoying dessert after a satisfying meal. It takes a whole Bible to make a whole Christian.

Standing Firm Against Deception

Here's the sobering reality: deception is real, and it often comes wrapped in fine-sounding arguments. The church at Colossae faced teachings that sounded reasonable, even spiritual, but were deadly because they moved Christ from the center.

We face the same challenge today. Arguments that sound loving, progressive, and enlightened often contradict Scripture. The claim that Jesus is "a way" to God rather than "the way" sounds inclusive, but it directly contradicts Jesus' own words: "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."

The idea that we can pursue our own spirituality without the church sounds liberating, but it ignores the biblical reality that our hearts are deceitful above all things. Left to ourselves, we drift toward error. We need the Word of God and the community of believers to keep us grounded in truth.

When we're fortified in Scripture, we can stand firm when culture shouts narratives that contradict God's Word. We can recognize deception not because we're smarter or better, but because we know the truth intimately.

What Are We Willing to Sacrifice?

This brings us to the challenging question: What are we willing to suffer to see people know Jesus?

Paul contended for people he had never met. He poured out his life for strangers because the gospel stirred something deep within him. He understood that the truest treasure in this world is Jesus, and even death couldn't steal that treasure from him.

Jim Elliot, a young missionary, embodied this same commitment. He wrote in his journal: "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose." In 1956, he and four other missionaries were killed by the very tribe they went to serve. It looked like tragic waste.

But the story didn't end there. Jim's wife Elizabeth later returned to that same tribe and shared the gospel with the men who killed her husband. Many came to know Jesus. Jim lost his life but not his reward.

Are we willing to suffer the inconvenience of someone sitting in "our" seat at church, recognizing instead that a new person has come to encounter Jesus? Will we share the gospel with our neighbor despite fearing judgment? What about our reputation, our comfort, our resources?

The Invitation

We are simply beggars telling other beggars where we found bread. We've discovered the riches of Christ, the satisfaction our souls were created for. Now the question is whether we'll contend for others to discover the same treasure.

May we be people who strive—not for temporary glory or fleeting satisfaction, but for the eternal purpose of seeing others come to know the hope that is found in Christ alone.