Halfway Home

"It's only halfway home!" That's what my boss used to say when I was 17, working for a master carpenter. "Halfway home" meant I hadn't driven the nail far enough into the wood. I needed to hit it with my hammer again to drive it all the way home and make sure it was secure.

It's tempting to do things halfway when you're 17—or when you're 27 or 87. Compromise is routine in business and politics. Marriages require a lot of give-and-take. At garage sales and used car lots, sellers and shoppers bargain until they arrive at a price agreeable to both. Sometimes it's best to meet others halfway.

But there are times when halfway is no good—when compromise means selling out. You won't win a race if you only run halfway around the track. In baseball, you won't score a run if you stop at second base. In football, you won't score a touchdown if you never advance the ball beyond the 50-yard line. You won't keep a job very long if you only show up every other day and perform half of your duties. When you buy a house, you can't tell the bank, "Let's compromise here. I'll make half of the mortgage payments, and you just absorb the rest!" When two people marry, they don't give each other half a wedding ring or promise to be faithful half of the time. In minor matters, compromise is often necessary; but in matters of principle, a halfway commitment is like no commitment at all.

Jesus said to "love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind" (Matthew 22:37)—not half, but all. The problem with such a lofty goal is not just that we fail to attain it, but that we're tempted to quit pursuing it at all. Like termites eating away at the support beams of a house, spiritual compromises quietly chip away at our faith.

Churches, like individuals, go through life cycles. In the infancy stage, a newly planted church is filled with excitement and a strong sense of mission. Then comes adolescence, where growth spurts require awkward adjustments and patient guidance. Then, bolstered by prayer, planning, and perseverance, a growing church will press on to mature, productive service—or, the comfortable church will lose its first love and drift into dullness, settling for bland religiosity instead of vibrant faith.

Now and then, we need to ask ourselves some hard questions. Has our church lost its sense of purpose—its wholehearted devotion to God? Have we become lazy, complacent, lacking in zeal? Have we become like the church in Sardis with "a reputation of being alive" while in reality we're spiritually asleep and on the verge of death (Revelation 3:1–3)? Like the church in Laodicea, do we think we're wealthy and self-sufficient when in reality we're nauseatingly lukewarm (Revelation 3:15–17)? Like Samson, do we lie back sleeping while sin, like a Philistine barber, cuts away our source of strength? Have we compromised our convictions until we're left with only a form of godliness while denying its power (2 Timothy 3:5)? Are we going all out to bring lost people to Christ, reclaim straying believers, reconcile with offended brothers, and bolster faltering marriages? God deserves nothing less than our wholehearted commitment. No compromise of gospel truth. No flirtation with the devil's lies. No slipping away into senseless sin.

This is not the time to lie down in the middle of the road and quit moving forward. We may only be halfway home.