‘Let’s stop calling striving faithfulness’

I’m learning that it is entirely possible to build something that looks fruitful, and still be building parts of it without God.

A few months ago, I gave a sermon at church on Acts 1, exploring a pattern of revival revealed in the early Church: hungry, surrendered, filled and sent.

I traced that pattern across revivals throughout Church history and saw, again and again, that those who are hungry for God begin to ache for something deeper than religious routine. They surrender comfort, control, fear and reputation. They cry out: “Lord, cleanse me. Bend me. Fill me. Send me.”

And the Holy Spirit comes.

Hearts and minds are renewed, witness spills out and revival takes root.

Ever since sharing that word, I’ve felt the weight of it in my own walk with Jesus.

I’ve found myself asking, almost daily: am I hungry for more of God? Am I surrendering the idols I cling to, the thought patterns, the parts of me that need to die? Am I asking the Spirit to fill me again? Am I willing to be sent?

I think I’m realising how possible it is to build a platform, exercise your gifts and see success by the world’s standards, while depending less and less on God. You can build without Him. And He’ll let you. But He doesn’t pour out His Spirit so we can build our own kingdoms. He pours out His Spirit so we can bear witness to His.

The invitation to build with God

Building with God, though?

That kind of building costs something. It asks for sacrifice, for death to self, for the laying down of what I thought success should look like. It asks me to surrender the desire to be liked, esteemed or held in high regard.

Recently, before a worship night at church, I spent most of the day in prayer. I still went into the office. I still worked. I still moved through the ordinary demands of my day. But everywhere I went, I carried whispered prayers on my lips. 

It’s never been about me. But boy, am I tempted to make it about me

I found myself longing with a depth I couldn’t quite explain. Longing for more of God. Feeling the weight of that invitation all over again.

Because, if I’m honest, I can become so focused on efficiency and my to-do list that I charge ahead in my own strength and get miles down the road before realising Jesus stopped somewhere behind me, and I missed Him.

Lately, I’ve sensed the Holy Spirit whispering: “Jamie, will you give it all to me? Your marriage. Your family. Your work. Your dreams. Your ministry.

“Will you lay down every brick you’ve been stacking in your own strength and build My house, My way, by My power? Will you co-labour with Me, lay down your vision for what your life should look like, and surrender your timeline?” 

Because we can operate in our gifts without depending on God. We can plough ahead in our own strength and still look successful. But success without His presence is hollow. The activity can continue even when the glory has lifted.

I’ve been feeling a real conviction around this. Surrendering again the ideas I have of success – the chasing, the striving and the building I’m so tempted to do on my own.

And as the day went on, before I even made it to the worship night, it all came crashing down on me. I can’t do any of it without Him. I don’t want to do any of it without Him. Because it’s all about Jesus. My formation, my disciplines, my work, the ordinary parts of my day – all of it belongs to Him. It always has.

It’s about helping others encounter Jesus – the love that existed before time began, that holds all things together, and that can handle our questions, doubts, frustration and suffering.

It’s never been about me. But boy, am I tempted to make it about me.

This week I’ve been reminded, in the most tender and piercing way, that the invitation is to let Him tear the walls down, strip back the façade and expose the parts of me that still long for accolades, recognition, the stage and the platform. It’s an invitation to lay down what I have constructed in my own strength, to stop calling striving faithfulness, and to learn again how to build His house, His way, in His timing.

And you know what? It’s probably going to look pretty ordinary most of the time. Hidden and slow. Faithful in ways that look unimpressive to the world. It’s going to be hard to loosen my grip on the things I’ve grown used to holding tightly. It’s a sharp correction, but a good one.

Laying down in fresh surrender

If we want to see the kind of revival we’ve read about in our history books, the kind the early Church experienced, then the work cannot stay theoretical. It has to begin in us. We have to let the Great Physician do surgery on the parts of us that still cling to the ways of the world, the idols of this age and the little kingdoms we keep trying to protect.

Nothing I hold tightly to apart from Him will prosper in the way He intends

The walls have got to come down, but only Jesus can bring them down without crushing us.

Jesus will not share the throne. And I’m learning that divided hearts leave little room for the fullness of what the Spirit longs to do in us.

When I made my way into the worship night that evening, I laid prostrate on the floor and wept the whole time. It was undignified. I was completely undone. I prayed and worshipped with my whole body.

I grieved all the ways I’m tempted to go it alone. I repented for the idols I start to craft with my hands when my eyes drift from Jesus. I surrendered my marriage, my family, my dreams, my calling, my timeline.

Because none of it is safe in my hands apart from Jesus, and I can’t hold any of it well without the power of the Holy Spirit.

Often, this is what formation looks like: recognising God’s voice when we’ve grown comfortable with the ways of the world again, returning to Him in prayer until our hearts and minds begin to soften, and letting Him uncover what we’ve been building, what we’ve been guarding and what we’ve been calling faithfulness when it may actually have been fear.

I don’t want to be complacent. I don’t want to build my own kingdom. I want to be hungry for God more than I’m hungry for anything this world can give me. And nothing I hold tightly to apart from Him will prosper in the way He intends. 

I want my life to reflect the light and love of Jesus. In my family. In my marriage. In my work. In my ministry, which I’m realising is the whole of my life. 

There is so much more for us than we can imagine. But we have to make room. We have to empty ourselves to be filled.

So maybe the question is simple: what have we been building in our own strength that Jesus is asking us to lay down?

Prayer practice: Laying down the bricks

Find a quiet place and sit with your hands closed in fists. Let each hand represent the things you’ve been gripping tightly: your work, family, future, reputation, ministry, finances, timeline, platform, comfort, control. 

Pray slowly:

“Jesus, show me what I’ve been building without You.”

Sit in silence for a minute or two. Notice what rises to the surface. Don’t rush past it.

Then, one by one, name those things before God. After each one, open your hands a little more.

You might pray:

“I surrender my timeline.

I surrender my need to be seen.

I surrender the version of success I’ve been chasing.

I surrender the places where I’ve called striving faithfulness.

I surrender the bricks I’ve stacked without you.”

When your hands are fully open, sit quietly and pray:

“Come, Holy Spirit.

Fill what I have emptied.

Teach me to build with You, in Your way, in Your timing.

Make me hungry, surrendered, filled and sent.”

Then stay there for a few minutes with open hands and receive.