The Danger of Comfort

This is part one of Comfort Must Fall—an excerpt series from Louie Giglio’s Goliath Must Fall. 

We like to kick back at the end of the day with our shoes off and watch a fun show on TV. We like hanging out in the backyard in a hammock. We like knowing how much money we’ve got in the bank and feeling financially secure. We like things to be orderly in our lives, not chaotic. We like things to be smooth and to go as planned. Isn’t that comfort? Sure. 

And none of those things are deadly in and of themselves. 

Trouble arises when the desire for safety and security becomes the dominant theme of our lives. When a relaxation mentality supplants our attentiveness to God’s call on our lives. 

Jesus took time off, but he didn’t come to earth to relax. He came for a specific mission and he left us with one as well. 

That’s why comfort is perhaps the scariest giant of them all. It’s so subtle in its deception. It’s the giant that causes us to miss the very best because we have settled for something good. On the surface everything looks fine. What could be wrong with having a good job? A nice family? A routine? 

The problem is we might forget that in the grand scheme of things (namely eternity), we have about five seconds on earth to make our lives count. Really count. Here are a few specific ways comfort can become a harmful thing:

If we miss a great opportunity because we choose a safer, easier route.

If a good thing actually turns out to be harmful or counterproductive over time because it lulls us into a false sense of security.

If we choose the good thing but miss the God-thing.

If we buy into the idea that we work hard for a season of life and then we can choose to do whatever we want with the rest.

If we slip into thinking it’s “my life” to do with as I please.

If my number one factor in deciding what I do is “whatever makes me happy.”

If comfort is sought ahead of everything else, including our desire to be available to God’s plans.

If we grow accustomed to our sin and fail to confront it and remove it from our lives.

That’s the danger of comfort. That’s why comfort can be such a deadly giant. I know how people can struggle with any number of overtly horrible things, but sometimes it’s not the overtly horrible things that kill us. We aren’t heroin addicts. We aren’t going to prison for tax evasion. On the contrary, we are honest. And honorable. 

Yet we have just settled for comfort, and the comfort ends up doing us in. Our abundant life on earth and our eternal reward in heaven aren’t robbed by the “bad” stuff. Our chance for a meaningful life and a happy forever is robbed by comfort. 

Each year on the side porch of our house where Shelley and I once lived, we had birds building nests. Sometimes it was a nuisance, but usually it was a good thing. A few springs back some birds built the biggest nest I’d ever seen. It was the size of a basketball. I wondered for a while if we had a bunch of squirrels living up there, but no, it was birds. We loved watching these birds work. I mean, sure their nest building was a little muddy and messy. But I have massive respect for birds, mother birds in particular. They build the nest. They sit on the eggs. They hatch the baby birds. They fly to and fro all day long collecting worms and bugs for the baby birds to eat. They stole a third of a bale of my pine straw to build their nests in the first place. But that was all okay. These mother birds are the workhorses and caregivers of the avian world. 

But something disrupted their flow that year. You know what it was? 

London. Our new dog. 

London is a big dog, and dogs regularly need to do things in the yard. In our case, the side yard right out the door near where the birds would quietly build their nests. Now, the bird’s tranquil habitat was the daily thoroughfare for our Goldendoodle. So whenever London came outside, the birds would get all agitated. 

We particularly saw this agitation right when the baby birds needed to learn how to fly. It was time for those baby birds to jump out of the nest, but there was our big dog down below, and that caused considerable stress in the birds’ lives. They were thinking, Wait a minute. This is not what we’d planned. We have our territory. You have yours. Get that dog out of here. 

Even then, with the dog down below, the mother bird finally said to her babies, “It’s time.” And those baby birds came out of the nest. The mama was saying, “You can fly. You’re ready to go forward. Off you go.” And off they went. Sure enough, somewhere between the nest and the ground, those baby birds figured out how their wings worked. They started flapping like mad and flew off into the sky and it was like they were saying, “Hey, this is awesome! We’re so glad we didn’t stay in the nest.” 

This is a picture of our life in Christ. A nest is a good thing for a while. It’s safe and comfortable and sheltered, and all our spiritual baby-needs are taken care of. But if we’re not careful, then the giant of comfort tempts us to stay in the nest forever. Maybe we’re worried about leaving the nest. We see a big dog below on the ground. We’re not sure if we can fly or not. But staying in the nest is never our end goal. Comfort and familiarity are not what God points us toward. Jesus isn’t in the business of flying to and fro for the rest of our lives, hand-delivering spiritual baby food to us.

The calling of faith pushes us out of the nest. Jesus says, “Hey, you weren’t made to live in the nest forever. You were made to live out in a broken world where there’s conflict and risk.” The gospel of Jesus pushes us out of the nest and says, “You’re ready to fly. Off you go.” Somewhere between the nest and the ground we figure out that our wings work. We see how Christ came into the world so he could send us out into the world. We see how we’re filled with his Holy Spirit, and we can walk where Jesus walked and be the hands and feet of Jesus, and we say, “This flying is awesome. It’s way better than the nest.” 

Jesus told a story about a successful man. That man had bumper crops and said to himself, “I’m going to build a bigger barn to hold all my banner crops. And then I’ll have plenty to last me for a long while, so I’ll just take things easy. I’ll eat what I want, drink a little, and have a good time.” 

But, God said to the successful man, “You are a fool.” 

I don’t know a lot, but I know you don’t want to be called a fool by God! 

God continued, “This is going to your last day on earth and your soul is going to appear before God. What’s more, you don’t even know who will end up with all this stuff.” 

Rest assured, God is a generous God. He’s not stingy. He doesn’t need our stuff. 

What God is doing is trying to help us see that there is a fight to be fought, a race to be run, something of eternal significance to be contended for. He’s calling us to greater purpose, but he knows how easy it is to just eat a good meal, relax with a nice drink, and forget about the brevity of life on earth. 

I’m talking about influence that God wants to give us. I’m talking about opportunities. I’m talking about walking in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. I’m talking about stepping out in obedience. I’m talking about prayer and action. If our hearts are wide open in faith, then God is wide open to us. If we take the risk and go where God invites us, then God’s conduit is deep and wide. In faith, we’re invited to enter into the story of a generous God. In faith, we’re called to rally around the war cry that Christ has come and the battle is already won. 

To keep reading this excerpt from Louie Giglio’s Goliath Must Fall, click here for part two and click here to grab a copy of this special resource.