Practice the Way of Jesus

Jesus does not flatter us with comforting abstractions. He speaks with piercing clarity. “Everyone who hears these words of Mine and puts them into practice…”—and there He draws the line that divides all humanity. Not between the moral and immoral, the religious and irreligious, the fortunate and the afflicted—but between the practiced and the merely informed.

The striking truth of Jesus’ words in Matthew 7 is that everything else is the same. The storm does not discriminate. Rain falls on obedience and disobedience alike. Winds beat against every house. The difference is not the weather of life but the weight-bearing obedience beneath it. One hears and does. The other hears and delays. And delay, in the kingdom of God, is already a decision.

Throughout Scripture this pattern is relentless. God speaks; people respond—or refuse. Noah builds while the sky is blue and finds salvation when it turns black. Abraham keeps obeying long after obedience feels unreasonable and discovers that God keeps promises beyond biology. Moses lifts a staff, Israel walks, Naaman washes, blind eyes open, empty nets break with abundance. God’s power is never detached from trust expressed through action.

Equally clear is the sobering witness of those who heard and did nothing. They were invited. They were informed. They were near the truth. Yet they watched storms without experiencing salvation, commands without deliverance, Christ without transformation. It was not ignorance that robbed them—it was unpracticed truth.

Jesus never asked for admirers. He commanded apprentices. “Teach them to obey,” He said—not merely to agree. Christianity left at the level of belief alone becomes weightless. It can grow numerically, organize efficiently, and yet remain untouched by the living power of God. But obedience—real, embodied obedience—becomes the narrow gate through which life flows.

This is why practicing the way of Jesus feels so often unreasonable. Forgive when wounded. Give when anxious. Pray when exhausted. Speak when silence feels safer. These instructions offend our instincts because God has chosen the foolish-looking things to train our trust. We do not drift into this kind of life. We must aim.

Jesus Himself told us it would be harder. Easier roads are always available—but ease is often destructive. What is easiest rarely fuels what is eternal. The narrow way is demanding, but it is alive. As Chesterton observed, Christianity is not tried and found wanting; it is found difficult and left untried.

Yet hear the mercy in all this: Jesus never commands without empowering. He died not only to forgive sin, but to place His Spirit within us—to make obedience possible from the inside out. “It is God who works in you to will and to act…” Our responsibility is not self-powered righteousness, but surrendered cooperation.

So where is the storm pressing hardest right now? Where do you long to see God’s power break through? Do not ask first for relief—ask what obedience looks like there. Search the Scriptures. Seek counsel. Then act.

Build there. Practice there.

And you will find that the life you most truly crave is not found in hearing more—but in practicing what you already have heard.