Faith is not a ledger to be balanced, a staircase to be climbed, yet so often we treat it as such. We gather our good deeds, counting each prayer, each church service, each underlined verse as proof of devotion. But if faith were merely a tally of spiritual tasks, why do so many still feel distant from God?
Faith is not about accumulation—it is about immersion. It can often feel like our faith is a series of obligations, turning a living, breathing relationship into a checklist of duties.
“Spiritual formation isn’t about earning God’s love—it’s about responding to it,” Dr. Ruth Haley Barton, founder of the Transforming Center and author of Sacred Rhythms has said. “When we approach faith as a list of achievements, we lose the relational aspect that Jesus modelled.”
Too often, we mistake movement for meaning, assuming that a crowded schedule of religious activities equates to a thriving spirit. But Jesus did not ask us to complete a list; He asked us to abide in Him. To dwell, to trust, to be transformed—not through rigid discipline alone, but through deep, abiding love.
The Church, too, can mirror the restless culture that surrounds it. We equate busyness with devotion, mistaking movement for growth. Dr. Derwin Gray, pastor and author of The Good Life, warns against this mindset. “When we measure faith by performance, we turn relationship into obligation,” he explains. “Jesus didn’t call us to complete tasks. He called us to abide in Him.”
But abiding isn’t as easy as checking a box. It demands surrender, trust, and a willingness to be changed. Many believers grow up believing that discipline is the key to faithfulness—structured devotions, fasting, service projects. But as Barton notes, spiritual disciplines exist to draw us closer to God, not to serve as proof of devotion. “You can read the Bible every day and never let it change you,” she says. “The goal isn’t to check a box—it’s to be transformed.”
Jesus Himself never handed out structured plans or religious formulas. Instead, He extended a simple, powerful invitation: “Follow me” (Matthew 4:19). He didn’t demand perfection; He invited presence. His disciples grew not through routines, but through relationship. And that is still true today—faith flourishes not in performance, but in presence.
Why, then, do we cling so tightly to our spiritual duties? Part of it is human nature. We long for certainty, for tangible proof that we are on the right path. Being dutiful gives us control over something that is inherently mysterious. But faith is not meant to be controlled. It is meant to be lived, breathed, and surrendered to.
We have also been shaped by a world that prizes efficiency and achievement. In a society where worth is measured by productivity, it is all too easy to apply those same principles to our spiritual lives. If we are checking off all the right boxes—prayer, Scripture reading, church attendance—we assume we must be growing. But true spiritual maturity is often less about doing and more about becoming.
“We have confused spiritual activity with spiritual maturity,” says John Ortberg, pastor and author of The Life You’ve Always Wanted. “Busyness for God doesn’t necessarily mean intimacy with God. The Pharisees were incredibly disciplined in their religious practices but they completely missed the heart of God.”
This is not to say that discipline and structure have no place in the Christian life. They do. But when we focus solely on external practices, we risk losing sight of the internal transformation they are meant to bring. A faith that becomes more about performance than relationship is a faith that withers under the weight of its own expectations.
So how do we move beyond a transactional faith and into something deeper?
First, we must redefine what it means to grow. Spiritual maturity isn’t measured by the number of church events attended or devotionals completed. It is measured by how deeply we dwell with God, how much our hearts are shaped into His likeness. Growth is not about productivity—it is about presence.
Second, we must reclaim spiritual disciplines as invitations rather than obligations. If prayer feels forced, it is not a sign of failure—it is an opportunity to rediscover its meaning. God meets us where we are, not where we think we should be.
Third, we must create space for stillness. In a world that glorifies busyness, rest is an act of defiance. Jesus modelled rhythms of retreat and restoration, reminding us that faith is sustained not by ceaseless activity, but by abiding in Him. Taking a Sabbath isn’t just a suggestion—it’s a necessary rhythm for sustaining faith. When we slow down, we remember that faith isn’t about what we do, but who we are becoming.
Fourth, we must embrace the mystery of faith. There will be moments of silence, seasons of doubt, prayers that seem unanswered. That does not mean we are failing—it means we are human. “Faith is about trust, not certainty,” says Dr. Richard Beck, theologian and author. “A checklist gives the illusion of control, but real faith is learning to rely on God even when things feel uncertain.”
Finally, we must accept that spiritual formation is a lifelong journey. Faith isn’t a straight line—it’s a journey with ebbs and flows. Rather than fixating on doing more, we should focus on being with Jesus.
Christianity was never meant to be a box-ticking exercise. It is not about perfection, but about transformation. When we abandon the illusion of control, we make space for something infinitely greater: a real, thriving relationship with the God who calls us not to perform, but to abide. And that kind of faith? It cannot be measured. It can only be lived.
