The Journey Continues: The Gentle Tap on My Shoulder

 

“For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost, whether he has enough to complete it?" - Luke 14:28, ESV

Lately I've had the distinct impression that God keeps tapping me on the shoulder. The tap comes through Scripture, through my daily devotions, through conversations with people I love, and through books that seem to arrive at exactly the right moment. The message has been remarkably consistent: Count the cost.

For much of my Christian life, I've played it safe. Up until a few years ago I avoided God by staying away from His Word, and from intentional prayer. As I've embraced those disciplines, I've discovered that my relationship with God has deepened — and so has my awareness of my own weaknesses.

One of those glaring weaknesses is my reluctance to truly follow Him, because following Jesus comes at a cost. That persistent tap on my shoulder keeps asking me to count that cost. In soul-baring conversations with my wife, I often find myself asking, Am I ready? 

That persistent tapping on my shoulder grew even louder as I read the autobiography of Madame Guyon. A 17th-century Christian mystic, Madame Guyon devoted her life to intentional, continual prayer. Her devotion led to persecution by the church, harassment from family members, servants, and clergy, and eventually imprisonment because of her convictions. She counted the cost and resolved to love and serve Jesus, even though it ultimately cost her everything. She truly understood what Paul wrote in Philippians 3:8, "Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ." (ESV) As I read her story, I found myself asking "Am I willing to pay the cost?"

As if God were answering my question, my daily Gospel reading recently brought me to Luke 14, where Jesus Himself urges His followers to count the cost of discipleship, just as a man estimates the cost to build a new building before he begins construction, or a king estimates the cost of pitting his soldiers against a foe twice as big. 

Last Monday, as I was listening to my closing devotions (I use the Lectio 365 app), the presenter asked whether she was "wild" or "domesticated" in her love for God, which caused me to pause and ask myself that same question: am I "wild" or "domesticated" in my own love of God? I look back at my life and can see many times when the warning to the church in Laodicea against becoming lukewarm mirrored how I felt about myself. My wife often says that I've been "mainstream" in my faith—more inclined to rely on myself than to step out in faith. But now I am finding myself faced with counting the cost, and it's both uncomfortable and exhilarating. It's as if part of me is wanting to take the step of faith, but my long life of comfortable faith is saying "No, no, no! Keep going with how you HAVE been." 

I don't know yet what the full cost of following Christ will be in my own life. Perhaps that's the point. Jesus never asked His disciples to calculate the cost so they could avoid it; He asked them to count it so they could choose Him with open eyes. I'm still learning what that means. Part of me still longs for the comfort of a manageable faith. Yet another part hears the gentle tapping on my shoulder and senses that Christ is inviting me into something deeper. I pray for the courage not simply to admire that invitation, but to answer it.