Is Following Jesus Comfortable For You?

I have a confession: I love my comfort zone. Give me a cozy couch, a familiar routine, and the path of least resistance, and I settle right in. Maybe you can relate. But lately I’ve been wrestling with a tough question (the very one in the title): Is Following Jesus Comfortable for you? It’s an uncomfortable question—literally and figuratively. In my heart I know that Jesus didn’t call me to a life of ease. Yet, if I’m honest, I often prefer a faith that doesn’t ask too much of me. Can I truly follow a Jesus who calls me to deny myself when I’m clinging to what feels safe?

To explore this, I want to invite you into a conversation—one that’s been challenging me. Let’s talk about what the Bible says regarding our love of comfort, hear from those who have walked this road of surrender, and consider how stepping out in faith might change us. This is going to be honest and maybe a little convicting (for me too), but in the end, my hope is that we’ll both be encouraged to trade shallow comfort for deeper faith.

We live in a world that celebrates comfort. We naturally gravitate toward what we know, what feels safe, and what doesn't demand too much. Our “comfort zone” promises security and predictability. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying God’s blessings—warm homes, good food, stability. The problem comes when protecting our comfort takes priority over obeying Christ. I’ve noticed in my own life that I can make an idol out of comfort. I avoid situations that might stretch me. I hesitate to speak about my faith or serve in challenging ways because it might get awkward or cost me something. Can you relate? Have you ever felt God nudging you to do something outside your comfort zone and found a dozen excuses to stay where you are?

It’s a sobering reality that Jesus did not shy away from discomfort. In fact, He often steered His followers directly into it! Following Him was never meant to be a cushy endeavor for weekend convenience. C.S. Lewis put it bluntly (as he often does): “If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity.”​ Ouch. Yet, it rings true, doesn’t it? Christ didn’t come just to make us comfortable; He came to make us new and that process can be downright uncomfortable at times.

Think about it: Jesus’ message often disrupted comfort. He told a rich young man to sell everything and give to the poor. He challenged people’s traditions and sense of security. He even said He had “nowhere to lay His head,” implying a life without the usual comforts (Luke 9:58). The truth is, our comfort zone can quickly become a zone of spiritual stagnation. We might feel safe, but we’re not growing. We’re not taking risks of faith. We’re not learning to trust God beyond what we can control.

Jesus makes the challenge of discipleship unavoidably clear: “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23). Try to let those words sink in—deny myself, take up a cross, daily. A cross isn’t comfortable. In Jesus’ day it was an instrument of execution and shame. Yet Jesus says that embracing this kind of self-denial every day is the entryway to following Him. In other words, following Jesus is a call to come and die to yourself—to your own plans, your ego, maybe even your comfort and safety. It’s a call to surrender control to Him.

That sounds extreme and it is! We shouldn’t try to water it down. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a pastor who ultimately gave his life for his faith, famously wrote, “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.”​ Bonhoeffer understood that the call to follow Jesus is a call to die to the old life – to let go of our tight grip on personal comfort, sin, and even our very lives if necessary, in order to truly live for God. This echoes what Jesus taught. It may not mean physical death for most of us, but it does mean saying “no” to self and “yes” to God in a thousand small ways every day. It might mean enduring criticism or rejection because you won’t go with the flow of culture. It might mean giving away money you’d rather spend on yourself, or investing time in people who are difficult to love. It might mean literally packing up and moving somewhere new because God asked. Big or small, these are “deaths” to our old selves that make room for new life in Christ.

Why would anyone do this? Why embrace such discomfort? Jesus gives us the answer: “Whoever loses their life for me will save it” (Luke 9:24). In God’s upside-down economy, when we let go of our life, we actually find life as it was meant to be. We begin to experience the joy and freedom of living in God’s will rather than our own. It’s the paradox at the heart of the Gospel: true life comes through surrender, true joy through sacrifice, true peace through giving up our lesser loves for the greater Love of Christ.

I’ll be real with you—denying myself is hard. I like me! I like doing what I want. Yet every time I’ve taken even a small step of obedience that costs me something, I’ve found that what I gain is far greater. Saying yes to Jesus, even when it stretches us, leads to growth and a deeper intimacy with Him. It’s in those uncomfortable yeses that I’ve sensed God’s presence and pleasure the most. The Bible calls this process sanctification—a refining of our character. And often, sanctification has a lot less to do with feeling good and a lot more to do with being made holy.

One thing I’m learning (slowly, and often the hard way) is that spiritual growth seldom happens when I’m comfortable. Think about the times you’ve grown the most in your life. Were they easy? For me, growth spurts usually coincide with challenges: times I had to rely on God more deeply, seasons of trial or risk where my faith was tested. The Bible actually prepares us for this. James 1:2-4 urges, “Consider it pure joy… whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete.” In other words, those uncomfortable trials are the very things that produce a mature, sturdy faith. No strain, no gain – spiritually speaking.

It’s encouraging (and a bit frightening) to realize that God is committed to our growth more than to our ease. He loves us too much to let us stay the same. Like a master potter, He will mold and stretch the clay (that’s us) to form something beautiful and useful. That stretching process can hurt. I can almost hear my soul sometimes complaining, “Ouch, Lord! Do I really need this lesson? Can’t I be patient without having my patience tested?” But just as muscles only strengthen through resistance, our character only strengthens through stepping beyond what’s comfortable.

Consider the apostle Peter. He literally stepped out of a boat onto crashing waves to meet Jesus. Terrifying? Yes. But in that moment, Peter experienced the power of Jesus in a way the others (who stayed in the boat) did not. Or consider Abraham: he left the comfort of his homeland for an unknown destination simply because God called. Every hero of faith we admire in Scripture had to leave comfort behind: Moses left palace life to lead slaves to freedom; Esther risked her comfortable position in the Persian court to save her people; the disciples left their jobs and families to follow Jesus on a road that had no guarantees of comfort. Comfort never transformed anyone—but Christ-likeness is often forged in discomfort.

This principle has proven true in my own small experiences. When I said yes to serving in a ministry that intimidated me, I discovered gifts and joy I would have missed otherwise. When I had a tough conversation to reconcile a relationship (rather than avoid conflict), I eventually saw healing. Even writing this post is stretching me to be vulnerably honest! It’s uncomfortable, but it’s refining me. The Apostle Paul likened our growth to running a race: “Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us” (Hebrews 12:1). Races require training, effort, and sometimes pain—but the result is a stronger runner. In the same way, God uses each step outside our comfort zone to build perseverance and faith. Over time, those steps of obedience, though hard, lead to a deeper maturity in Christ.

That truth—that Christlikeness is forged in discomfort—hit home for me recently in an unexpected place: sitting at a table, celebrating my friend Ryan’s birthday over a low-country boil.

Ryan has been a huge encouragement to me in this area of boldness. He made a personal commitment to share the Gospel with at least one person every day—and he doesn’t let himself go home until he does. That’s his version of stepping out of the boat. When he first told me about it, I was inspired… and honestly a little convicted. I love Jesus deeply, but talking about Him with strangers? That still terrifies me sometimes. Isn’t it crazy? The person who completely changed my life is someone I sometimes hesitate to speak about publicly. I think that often boils down to insecurity—allowing fear to shout louder than the importance of the Gospel. And that’s where this story comes in.

As we sat at the restaurant, our waiter came by—friendly, engaging, the kind of guy you feel like you’ve known for years. Ryan, doing what he does, used the opportunity to bring up Easter and ask about faith. The guy told us he “wasn’t all about that” and “wasn’t into religion.” But instead of backing off, Ryan leaned in. We both shared parts of our stories, and slowly, you could see his curiosity shift. Then, it happened. He looked at us, kind of sheepishly, and admitted: he had never heard the name of Jesus.

Not just that he didn’t believe. Not that he wasn’t sure what he believed. He had never even heard of Jesus. In 2025. In Suwanee, Georgia.

I was stunned. Here I was, assuming everyone in our own backyard has at least heard of Jesus—and yet this young man hadn’t. And I almost missed the opportunity to be part of that conversation because I was scared of being awkward. That night, I was deeply humbled. Fear nearly kept me from a moment that God had clearly orchestrated.

After the waiter walked away, I sat there speechless, with Romans 10:14 echoing in my heart: “How can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?” The words felt personal—urgent. God wasn’t just calling me to admire the boldness of someone like Ryan; He was calling me to speak up myself. To trust that even when it feels uncomfortable, obedience is always worth it.

That conversation reminded me that following Jesus doesn’t just pull us out of comfort zones in theory. It pulls us out of them in coffee shops, restaurants, grocery store lines, and daily life. And when we say yes to those moments—even when our voice shakes—God shows up.

Sometimes I look around at my context here in the United States, and I realize how easy I have it. I can go to church openly, own multiple Bibles, and talk about Jesus without fear of imprisonment. That freedom is a gift—I’m grateful for it. But it also carries a subtle danger: complacency. When faith is easy, it’s tempting to slide into a comfortable, cultural Christianity that asks very little of me. I can start to assume following Jesus is mostly about going to church when it suits me, praying occasionally, and being a “nice” person. In a comfortable environment, it’s all too easy to forget Jesus’ call to radical surrender.

Meanwhile, I remind myself that around the world, many believers follow Jesus at great risk. Some meet in secret because owning a Bible or gathering publicly could get them arrested or worse. Others have been disowned by family or lost jobs because they refused to deny Christ. Persecution is a present reality for a significant portion of the global Church. These brothers and sisters know that choosing Jesus means choosing the narrow road every single day. And yet, their faith often flourishes in remarkable ways. They radiate joy, courage, and an unshakable trust in God’s promises. They’ve discovered that Jesus is worth everything. Hearing their stories makes me ask myself: Would I still follow Jesus if it really cost me? Do I have that kind of faith? It’s a humbling question.

The contrast between the comfortable Christianity I sometimes live out and the costly faith of persecuted Christians is striking. I say this not to make us feel guilty, but to give perspective. Jim Elliot, a missionary who actually left American comfort to share Christ with an unreached people group (and was killed for it), once gave a sharp critique of an easy-believeism faith. He wrote that many believers in affluent places have become complacent, even materialistic. In his words, “American believers have sold their lives to the service of Mammon… [and] succumbed to the spirit of Laodicea.”​ “Mammon” refers to wealth, and Laodicea alludes to the biblical church known for being lukewarm (Revelation 3:15-17). Elliot’s point hits home: when we have so much, we can end up serving our stuff and our comfort more than serving Christ. We might have faith, but does our faith have us? Are we, like the Laodiceans, lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—because we’re just so comfortable?

Reading what Elliot and others have said, I feel challenged. The truth is, comfort can be a more daunting enemy to true faith than hardship. Hardship, like persecution, tends to purify and strengthen believers – it clarifies what really matters. Comfort, on the other hand, can lull us to sleep spiritually. It’s like a cozy blanket that makes us reluctant to move. But Jesus is gently shaking us awake: “As many as I love, I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest and repent” (Revelation 3:19). He loves us enough to call us out of lukewarmness.

Now, does this mean we seek out persecution or reject every blessing? Not at all. It means we should wake up to the reality that the ease we enjoy is not the norm for many believers, and it’s not what Jesus prioritized. We’re called to identify with our persecuted brothers and sisters, to pray for them (Hebrews 13:3), and to learn from their example. Their witness shouts to us that Jesus is worthy of any cost. And if He’s worthy of a martyr’s death on the mission field, He’s certainly worthy of our daily small deaths to comfort and self in our quiet, free neighborhoods. Instead of feeling guilty that we have freedom, we can feel responsible to use our freedom well — to live fully for Christ, not wasting the opportunity by staying in spiritual comfort mode.

By this point, you might be thinking, “Okay, I get it — I need to step out of my comfort zone and surrender to God. But that’s easier said than done!” Trust me, I’m right there with you. It’s one thing to write these challenges; it’s another thing entirely to live them out. I wish I could say I’ve mastered this, but the truth is I’m still in process, and I suspect I will be for the rest of my life. And that’s the point: the journey of surrender and stepping beyond comfort is ongoing. It’s not a one-time decision or a single grand gesture. It’s a daily, sometimes moment-by-moment choice to yield to Jesus.

Every day when I wake up, there’s a kind of internal battle. Will I live today for my comfort, or for Christ? Will I only do what’s safe and easy, or will I take up my cross today and follow Him (Luke 9:23 again)? Some days I honestly want to roll over, pull the covers (literal or figurative) back over my head, and hide. Other days, by God’s grace, I find the courage to say “Yes, Lord” to something that scares me. This is the walk of sanctification – gradually, sometimes painfully, learning to be more like Jesus. And Jesus Himself set the ultimate example of surrender: in the Garden of Gethsemane, facing the cross, He prayed, “Not my will, but Yours be done.” I often come back to that. If my Lord could surrender everything for me, I can surrender this small thing for Him today.

It encourages me to remember that God is patient and faithful in this process. Philippians 1:6 promises that “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” In other words, God isn’t giving up on me (or you). He’s steadily working, gently but firmly prodding us out of our nests so we can learn to fly. I’m learning that when I step out and it’s hard, God meets me there. He doesn’t leave us to do the hard things alone. Jesus promised, “I am with you always” (Matthew 28:20), and I cling to that. Every time you step out in faith—whether it’s initiating a hard conversation, volunteering for a ministry you feel inadequate for, forgiving someone who hurt you, or sharing the gospel with a neighbor—Jesus is with you, empowering you. His Spirit is in us, giving us strength we don’t have on our own.

And let’s not forget, there is joy in this journey. Hebrews 12:2 says that Jesus, “for the joy set before Him endured the cross.” Jesus saw the joy on the other side of suffering. For us, the joy set before us might be a closer relationship with God, seeing someone’s life changed because we stepped out, or the ultimate joy of hearing “Well done, good and faithful servant” one day. There’s joy even now – the quiet joy that comes when you pillow your head at night knowing you were faithful, however imperfectly, that you took a risk for the sake of Love. I can honestly say the times I’ve been most uncomfortable for Jesus have led to the times of greatest joy and fulfillment in Him.

So if you’re feeling overwhelmed, take heart: this is a daily journey, and God supplies new mercy and grace for each step. You and I are being refined like gold in a fire. It doesn’t happen all at once. But over time, the more we yield, the more His character is formed in us. Little by little, we find our heart changing – we desire His will more and our comfort less. It’s not overnight perfection; it’s incremental transformation. I’m still very much a work-in-progress, and that’s okay. God’s not finished with me yet.

You’d think that lesson would be enough, right? But God wasn’t done with me yet. This past week, in a quiet, personal moment of prayer, God brought up something even harder—a question that absolutely wrecked me.

“If I never gave you the thing you want most in life… would you still trust Me? Would you still follow Me?”

I didn’t even want to say the answer out loud. Because that question hit deep. See, we all have something that sits at the center of our longing—a dream, a relationship, a calling, a desire we hold tightly. For me, it was something I had quietly held onto for a long time. I won’t name it here, because I know yours may look different. Maybe it’s the hope of healing, or a dream career, or marriage, or a kid, or just feeling seen. Whatever it is, we all have something we quietly hope God will eventually give us.

But that night, God was asking me to imagine a future where I don’t get it. Would I still believe He is good? Would I still follow? Would I still lift my hands in worship, even if that desire goes unmet?

That question was brutal—and beautiful. Because it revealed how much I had been holding onto the gift more tightly than the Giver. I had wrapped my identity and sense of God’s goodness around the idea that “surely, someday, He’ll give me this.” But what if He doesn’t? Is He still enough?

It reminded me of the rich young ruler in Mark 10. Jesus looked at him with love and said, “One thing you lack: go, sell everything you have and give to the poor. Then come, follow me.” But the man walked away sad, unwilling to let go of the thing he cherished most. That story hits different when you realize your “one thing” might not be wealth—but it might be something just as gripping.

That night, I prayed one of the hardest prayers I’ve ever prayed: “Lord, even if You never give me what I want most… I will still follow You. I don’t feel strong enough to mean that, but I choose to trust You. You are worth more to me than any gift.”

And in that place of surrender, I found unexpected peace. Not because the desire disappeared, but because I finally opened my hands. God wasn’t trying to be cruel—He was inviting me into freedom. He was reminding me that He is enough. Always has been. Always will be.

That prayer wasn’t a moment of arriving—it was a step in the journey. And that journey of surrender? It’s ongoing. Some days I’m more surrendered than others. Some days I want to grab that dream back with both hands. But God is patient. He’s sanctifying me, and He’s sanctifying you. One day, one yes, one release at a time.

Now comes the part where we both get personal with this. It’s reflection and action time. I’ll pose to you the questions I have to ask myself regularly: What is God calling you to do that you’ve been resisting because it’s uncomfortable? It could be something dramatic like a career change or a mission trip, or it could be something as “small” as inviting that lonely neighbor for coffee, forgiving someone, or finally starting that daily prayer habit you’ve been putting off. Identify one area where your comfort zone is holding you back from obedience or growth. Bring it before the Lord.

Consider this a gentle but urgent challenge. Don’t just nod along and forget about it. Do something. Pray and ask God for courage. Talk to a trusted friend about it for accountability. Take a tangible step this week, even if it’s a baby step, toward that thing God is stirring in you. If you sense He’s calling you out of the boat, move your foot toward the water. You don’t have to have the whole journey figured out; just take the next step.

As we each do this, remember the examples that inspire us. Recall those persecuted believers who wouldn’t trade Jesus for any comfort this world offers. Remember missionaries like Jim Elliot who said, “He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose.”​ In light of eternity, our comfort is something we cannot keep, but what we gain by following Jesus — even through suffering — we cannot lose​. That perspective makes the risk worth it. Jesus Himself assured us that “whoever loses their life for me will find it” (Matthew 16:25). There’s no ultimate loss in surrendering to Christ; it’s all gain in the end.

Finally, let’s remember why we step out of our comfort zones: not to chase spiritual “highs” or prove our devotion, but because we love Jesus and trust Him. He stepped out of the ultimate comfort zone – heaven – to rescue us. He embraced the ultimate discomfort – the cross – for our sake. So any sacrifice we make in response is small by comparison to His love for us. When I think of it that way, my heart says, “Lord, You can have my comfort, my plans, my life. You’re worth it.” I pray you’ll join me in that prayer, even if your voice trembles a bit (mine sometimes does!).

Is your comfort zone keeping you from following Jesus? If it is, it’s not too late to step out. The path of surrender and sacrifice is not easy – Jesus promised it wouldn’t be. But it is good. It’s where we actually encounter the living God and see Him work. It’s where our faith becomes alive and adventurous. So let’s you and I take a deep breath, fix our eyes on Jesus, and step over that line of comfort into the great journey of following Him wholeheartedly. We might just find that the life we’ve always truly wanted is waiting on the other side. Are you ready? Let’s go – one willing step at a time, with Jesus by our side, and the Holy Spirit empowering us, every step of the way. Amen.