Rekindling the Wonder: Resisting Apathy, Embracing Childlike Faith

1. Opening: Feeling Something, Feeling Nothing?

Have you ever found yourself deeply moved by a story? Perhaps it was a film that brought tears to your eyes, a book whose characters felt like old friends, or even just a powerful movie trailer that stirred something within you. Think about the story of Aslan in C.S. Lewis's The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Many find themselves profoundly affected by his sacrifice, a portrayal of Christ's own offering that, as Lewis himself suggested, can sometimes "steal past" our usual defenses and show familiar truths in their "real potency". Or perhaps you've seen a trailer for a film depicting the life of Christ, like King of Kings, and felt a surge of emotion, maybe even tears, anticipating the story to unfold. These stories, even fictional or cinematic representations, have a remarkable power to connect with our emotions.

But now, let’s pause and consider something closer to the heart of our faith. Think about the biblical account of the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. For those of us who have grown up in the church, who have heard the story countless times from Sunday School onwards, does it still pierce our hearts with the same intensity? Does the narrative of His suffering, His sacrifice, His unfathomable love still bring us to a place of awe, perhaps even sorrowful gratitude? Or has familiarity, like a constant dripping of water on stone, perhaps begun to wear away the sharp edges of its power? Has the sacred, through repetition, started to feel… common?.

It's a documented reality that familiarity can sometimes lead to a kind of desensitization. Like looking at the same beautiful view every day until it becomes mere background noise, the most profound truths can lose their emotional impact if we're not careful. Some who were raised hearing the Gospel message find that it can become 'old news' after a while, its emotional weight lessened simply through lifelong exposure. This isn't necessarily a sign of lost faith, but it highlights a danger – the danger that familiarity might breed a subtle form of indifference, a spiritual numbness. We risk becoming desensitized, less likely to feel sadness over sin or deep gratitude for salvation.

This brings us to the heart of our message today: the quiet danger of Spiritual Apathy. This isn't about having an occasional off day or feeling emotionally drained. Spiritual apathy runs deeper. It's a lack of motivation to grow closer to God and to do His work. It's an indifference, a coldness, a disinterest in the very things that should ignite our souls. It’s a slow fade that can lead to feeling distant from God, unconcerned with pursuing Him, even for the most sincere believer.

2. The Danger of Drifting: Recognizing Spiritual Apathy

What exactly is this spiritual apathy we're discussing? It's the state where we lack the drive, the passion, the interest to deepen our relationship with God or engage in His purposes. It often doesn't arrive suddenly; it creeps in slowly, subtly, leading us to feel disconnected from God and unmotivated in our pursuit of Him.

How can we recognize its presence in our lives? The symptoms can be both internal and external. Internally, it might manifest as a struggle to pray consistently, finding our minds wandering or simply lacking the desire. We might know we should read the Bible, but lack the motivation to actually open it. There might be a pervasive sense of spiritual boredom, where the things of God feel "meh". We might find ourselves accepting mediocrity in our faith, content with the bare minimum in our devotion or service. Our spiritual battery feels low, drained of passion and closeness to God , and we lose our appetite for the preaching and teaching of His Word.

Externally, apathy can surface as a noticeable decline in faithful church attendance, disregarding the biblical call to gather together. It can show up as a lack of concern for those who don't know Christ, losing the heartbeat for what matters most to Him. We might become indifferent to the needs of fellow believers, failing to bear one another's burdens. Perhaps we find ourselves passively sitting through worship, not engaging, or neglecting opportunities to serve. Apathy often leads to neglecting spiritual vigilance, letting our guard down in the spiritual battle.

Where does this apathy come from? It's rarely a single cause, but often a confluence of factors, an ecosystem where indifference can thrive. Unconfessed sin inevitably creates distance between us and God, dampening our spiritual fervor. Sometimes, we fall into "dead orthodoxy" – going through the motions of religion, holding correct beliefs, but without genuine love and passion for the Lord. This was the very critique Jesus leveled against the church in Ephesus: they had forsaken their first love (Revelation 2:4). Familiarity itself can be a culprit; we can begin to take the incredible truths of the Gospel and the presence of Christ for granted, losing our sense of wonder and eternal purpose.

Our surrounding culture also plays a role. We live in an increasingly isolated society, which hinders the fellowship vital for spiritual vitality. There can be a subtle pressure to compartmentalize faith, focusing only on personal spirituality while disengaging from the needs of the world or difficult cultural issues. Our culture often values moderation in religion, viewing passionate zeal as excessive, subtly encouraging a lukewarm approach. Furthermore, the constant stream of distractions and entertainment can pull our attention away from eternal matters. Even within the church, factors like monotony in services, a lack of clear vision, unnecessary barriers to serving, or even apathetic leadership can contribute to a congregation's overall spiritual temperature. Sadly, sometimes even discipleship programs can inadvertently cater to apathy if they prioritize church activity over fostering a genuine, vibrant relationship with Jesus Himself.

This condition isn't merely undesirable; it's dangerous. It can arise from a misplaced self-sufficiency, a subtle pride where we equate material blessings, or correct doctrine, or even consistent church attendance with genuine spiritual health. We might think, like the church in Laodicea, "I am rich, I have prospered, I need nothing," while being spiritually impoverished. This self-assessment blinds us to our desperate need for Christ's ongoing work in our lives. The apathetic person, convinced they are "okay," can be the hardest to reach because they feel no need for change or deeper connection.

This brings us to one of the most sobering warnings in Scripture, found in Revelation chapter 3, verses 15 and 16. Jesus speaks to the church in Laodicea: "I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth."

To understand this startling image, we need to know a little about Laodicea. Unlike nearby Hierapolis with its famous healing hot springs, or Colossae with its refreshing cold mountain streams, Laodicea lacked a natural water source. Water had to be piped in via aqueducts, and by the time it arrived, it was tepid, lukewarm, and often full of minerals, making it unpleasant and even nauseating to drink.

Jesus uses this local reality as a powerful metaphor. He isn't saying He prefers outright hostility ("cold") over imperfect faith. Rather, He's talking about usefulness and effect. Hot water could bring healing and cleansing. Cold water provided refreshment and sustenance. But lukewarm water? It served no good purpose; it was useless, disgusting. The Laodicean church, marked by its smug self-sufficiency and complacency, had become spiritually useless. Their lukewarm faith offered neither the healing warmth of fervent devotion nor the refreshing clarity of decisive commitment. They were ineffective, and their spiritual state was nauseating to Christ.

The warning for us is clear: spiritual indifference, complacency born of self-sufficiency, a faith that makes no impact – this is repulsive to our Lord. He desires either the passionate heat of wholehearted commitment or perhaps even the definite state of being "cold" – a state that at least recognizes its condition and might be more readily transformed than the self-satisfied lukewarmness that feels no need for Him. He detests the uselessness of a faith that has settled for "whatever".

3. Adam's Reach, God's Grasp: The Effort Gap

Consider for a moment one of the most iconic images in Western art: Michelangelo's "Creation of Adam" fresco on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. Picture the scene: On one side, God the Father, depicted as an ancient yet powerful figure, surges forward with dynamic energy, wrapped in a swirling cloak, surrounded by angelic beings. His arm is outstretched, His finger reaching with undeniable purpose and effort.

Now, look at Adam on the other side. He is fully formed, reclining on the earth, the pinnacle of physical creation. Yet, his posture is one of startling passivity. He lounges, almost listless, propped up on one elbow. His arm is extended towards God, mirroring the divine reach, but his hand is limp, relaxed, seemingly lacking energy or exertion. There's a palpable contrast between the vibrant, straining energy of the Creator and the languid, almost indifferent posture of the created. The tiny gap between their fingers crackles with the potential of imparted life, emphasizing the divine initiative.

This masterpiece captures more than just the physical creation; it serves as a profound visual metaphor for our spiritual reality. God is perpetually reaching towards humanity. His nature is one of initiative, grace, and passionate desire for relationship. He is the dynamic force, the source of all life and energy. Adam's posture, in contrast, can strikingly represent our own human tendency toward spiritual lethargy, passivity, and indifference. God strains towards us, pouring out divine energy, while we, like Adam, often appear barely engaged, our spiritual hands hanging limp, unwilling to exert even the minimal effort required to connect with the Source of our being.

The painting powerfully illustrates a core theological truth: God's action, His grace, His initiative always precede any human response. Life itself, both physical and spiritual, originates entirely from Him. Adam brings nothing to that moment of animation but a body ready to receive the spark. His passivity underscores our complete dependence on God for the very breath of spiritual life. This visual echoes the truth we find later in Scripture, that salvation is God's gift, not achieved by our works. God reaches first.

However, Adam's hand is outstretched, albeit passively. It suggests a necessary capacity for reception. While God provides the life-giving touch, there must be a willingness, however faint, to receive it. Spiritual apathy, then, can be seen as something even less responsive than Adam's pose. It's a refusal to even extend the hand, a turning away from the divine reach, a lack of desire for the connection God offers. It’s not just a lack of effort, but a deficiency in the will to receive the very life God is straining to give.

How often, brothers and sisters, do we mirror Adam's posture in our daily walk with God? He reaches for us through His Word, inviting us into its truths. He calls us to meet Him in prayer. He offers fellowship with other believers. The Holy Spirit prompts and convicts us. Yet, do we respond with spiritual inertia? Do we remain passive, distracted by worldly concerns, unmoved by His constant, loving pursuit, unwilling to make even the simple effort to grasp the hand He extends?

4. The Kingdom Belongs to These: Jesus and the Children

If apathy represents a kind of weary, self-sufficient adulthood, where does Jesus point us for the antidote? He points us toward children. Turn with me in your Bibles to the Gospels, specifically passages like Matthew 19, Mark 10, and Luke 18. We see a recurring scene: parents, likely mothers, eagerly bringing their little children – Luke even uses the word brephe, meaning infants – to Jesus. They desired Him simply to touch them, to lay His hands on them and pray, to bless them. There was clearly something about Jesus that attracted children and gave parents confidence in His love for them.

But notice the reaction of the disciples. They rebuke the parents. They try to turn them away, perhaps thinking the children were unimportant, too young, or simply a nuisance to their busy Master. Mark's Gospel tells us that when Jesus saw this, He was indignant. Visibly displeased, He overrides His disciples with a clear command: "Let the children come to me, and do not stop them, for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs".

Then, He delivers a profound, essential truth: "Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it". After saying this, He didn't just dismiss them; He took the children up in His arms, laid His hands on them, and blessed them, demonstrating His deep affection and their value in His eyes.

What does it mean to receive the kingdom "like a little child"? Jesus isn't calling us to be childish – immature, demanding, or selfish. Rather, He is highlighting specific qualities inherent in the status and typical disposition of young children, qualities that are absolutely necessary for entering and thriving in His kingdom.

First and foremost is Humility. In the first-century world, children had virtually no social standing, no rights, no power. They were entirely dependent on their caregivers. To come to the kingdom like a child means recognizing our own spiritual helplessness, our utter lack of status or claim before a holy God. It requires us to humble ourselves, acknowledging we bring nothing of merit (Matthew 18:4). God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble.

Second is Trust and Dependence. Young children naturally trust their parents. They depend on them for food, shelter, protection, guidance, and love. Childlike faith mirrors this. It trusts God completely, relies on His provision without anxiety, and brings every need, every hurt, every question to the Father. It believes His promises.

Third is Receptivity and Simplicity. Children often receive things simply, without the layers of cynicism, skepticism, or intellectual pride that adults accumulate. They tend to believe what they are told by a trusted source. We are called to receive the gift of God's kingdom – His grace, His Word, His salvation – with this same uncomplicated, trusting faith. Children aren't self-sufficient; they understand, implicitly, that they receive everything as a gift.

This posture of dependence seems to be the crucial point Jesus emphasizes. It's not primarily about innocence (children are certainly not sinless) but about their objective state of helplessness in that society, which perfectly mirrors our spiritual reality before God. We cannot earn our way in; we cannot achieve righteousness on our own; we cannot sustain ourselves spiritually apart from Him. We are utterly dependent on His grace and mercy. Embracing this childlike dependence requires abandoning the very self-reliance and pride that fuel lukewarmness and apathy. The Laodiceans said, "I need nothing" ; the childlike heart cries out, "Abba, Father, help me!"

Apathy, conversely, is often entangled in adult complexities. It thrives on cynicism, intellectual justifications for inaction, the burden of self-reliance, feeling too "sophisticated" or "busy" for simple, heartfelt devotion. Childlike faith cuts through these layers. It doesn't get bogged down in complexities; it simply trusts, depends, receives, and loves. Perhaps this is why Jesus cherished the presence of children – they hadn't yet erected the walls of adult indifference and self-sufficiency that keep so many from truly entering His kingdom. They demonstrated the very posture required to receive it.

5. Staying Connected: The Call to Abide and Seek

If apathy is characterized by drifting, distance, and dependence on self, then the biblical antidote is clear: intentional, active connection with Christ and prioritizing His kingdom. Jesus Himself gives us the central metaphor for this connection in John chapter 15, verses 4 and 5: "Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing."

What does it mean to "abide"? The word means to remain, to stay, to continue, to dwell. This isn't about a one-time decision made years ago; it's about an ongoing, daily, vital connection to Jesus. It involves consciously receiving and trusting all that God promises to be for us in Christ. It means intentionally staying connected so that His life – His words, His love, His joy – can flow into us, like sap from the vine into the branch.

The vine and branches imagery is powerful. Jesus is the vine – the source of all life, nourishment, strength, and stability. We are the branches. Our life, our health, our ability to produce anything of lasting value depends entirely on our connection to Him. A branch severed from the vine inevitably withers and becomes useless, fit only to be discarded. Jesus makes it explicit: "apart from me you can do nothing". This isn't hyperbole. He means nothing of true, spiritual, eternal significance can be accomplished in our own strength. Fruitfulness – the evidence of genuine faith, such as love, joy, peace, patience, and good works – is the natural result of abiding in Him, not the means by which we abide.

This call to abide is the practical outworking of childlike dependence. It is the daily, conscious choice to remain vitally connected to Christ as our sole source, acknowledging our complete inability apart from Him. It directly combats the self-sufficiency and pride that lie at the root of much spiritual apathy. Abiding is active dependence, the very opposite of the Laodicean spirit.

Complementing this call to abide is the call to prioritize. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus addresses our tendency to worry about earthly needs – food, clothing, shelter. After assuring us of the Father's care, He gives this command in Matthew 6:33: "But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you."

To "seek first" means to make God's reign and His standards our absolute top priority, above our anxieties, our material desires, our personal ambitions. It involves actively desiring Jesus' rule to be established in our own hearts, in our families, in our church, and extending to the ends of the earth. It means aligning our thoughts, our decisions, and our actions with His character and His revealed will. Seeking His kingdom involves embracing His mission – sharing the Gospel, making disciples. Seeking His righteousness involves living out and promoting His standards of justice, mercy, compassion, and holiness in every sphere of life.

And the promise attached? "All these things will be added to you." Contextually, "these things" refer to the basic necessities of life that Jesus just told us not to worry about. He assures us that if we dedicate our primary energy and focus to His agenda, He will faithfully provide what we truly need to live and serve Him. This isn't a blank check for prosperity, but a promise of sufficiency for His purposes.

Notice how seeking His kingdom serves as a direct replacement for anxious fretting. Jesus doesn't just say "stop worrying"; He gives us something positive and purposeful to pour our energy into. Worry and anxiety often feed apathy, draining our spiritual energy. By actively seeking God's kingdom first, we redirect our focus from self-preoccupation (which breeds indifference) towards God's grand, eternal purposes, trusting Him for our daily bread. This purposeful action, fueled by faith, invigorates the soul.

So, the call today is clear. Resist the drift towards apathy. Fight against the gravitational pull of lukewarmness. Make your relationship with Jesus Christ a daily, personal, vital connection. Don't settle for a distant, academic, or merely routine faith. Choose active dependence – abide in the Vine. Choose purposeful priority – seek first His kingdom. If you find yourself feeling distant or cold, heed the call given to the Ephesian church: Remember the height from which you have fallen, Repent of your apathy, and Renew your commitment – return to the things you did at first (Revelation 2:5).

6. Closing: Pursued by Love, Saved by Grace

Perhaps the weight of this message feels heavy. Perhaps recognizing apathy in your own heart brings discouragement. But let me close by turning our attention to the most glorious, hope-filled truth of our faith: the relentless, pursuing love of God.

Even when we are apathetic, even when we mirror Adam's passive posture, even when we wander far off like foolish sheep, God does not give up on us. He actively, persistently pursues us. Think of the Parable of the Lost Sheep in Luke 15. The shepherd owns one hundred sheep. When just one wanders away, does he shrug and say, "Well, I still have ninety-nine"? No! He leaves the ninety-nine in the open country – presumably safe – and he goes after the one that is lost, searching diligently until he finds it. He doesn't wait for the sheep to realize its error and find its way back; the initiative is entirely his. And when he finds it, there is immense rejoicing – rejoicing in the shepherd's heart, rejoicing shared with friends, and, Jesus tells us, immense rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents. This parable reveals the very heart of God: He actively seeks out the lost, valuing every single individual soul.

This pursuit is woven throughout Scripture. It was God who called out to Adam and Eve hiding in their shame, "Where are you?" (Genesis 3:9). It is God who spreads out His hands all day long to a rebellious people (Isaiah 65:1-3). It is the Lord our God who promises to be in our midst, a mighty One who will save, who rejoices over us with gladness and quietens us with His love (Zephaniah 3:17). He is the one who calls us out of darkness into His marvelous light (1 Peter 2:9). He sovereignly arranged times and boundaries for nations specifically so that people would seek Him and find Him (Acts 17:26-27). His goodness and mercy don't just wait for us; they follow us all the days of our lives (Psalm 23:6). Jesus Himself declared His mission: "For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost" (Luke 19:10). He stands at the door of our hearts and knocks, waiting to be invited in (Revelation 3:20). God is the relentless Pursuer of our souls.

And what motivates this tireless pursuit? It is His astonishing, incomprehensible, unconditional love. The Apostle Paul captures it perfectly in Romans 5:8: "But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us". Ponder the timing of this demonstration. Not after we cleaned up our act. Not after we showed promise. Not when we were seeking Him. But while we were still sinners. While we were weak, ungodly, helpless, even His enemies. While we were utterly undeserving, He initiated the ultimate act of sacrificial love. He didn't wait for us to make the first move; He proved His love definitively and irrevocably by giving His Son for us.

This leads us to the final, liberating truth that shatters apathy. Salvation – the rescue we desperately need, the restoration He passionately pursues – is entirely a free gift, received by grace through faith. Ephesians 2:8-9 proclaims: "For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast". Grace is God's undeserved, unmerited favor. Faith is simply the open hand that receives this gift; it is not a work that earns it. The entire plan, process, and power of salvation originate with God, offered freely to us. Our good works are the result and purpose of being saved, never the cause (Ephesians 2:10).

Romans 6:23 draws the stark contrast: "For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord". What we earn through our own efforts, through our sin, is death. What God offers is life – eternal life – not as a paycheck we deserve, but as a charisma, a grace-gift, freely bestowed. And Titus 3:5 reiterates: "He saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to his own mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit". It is His mercy, His cleansing, His Spirit's work, not our own striving, that saves.

Do you see the beautiful coherence of this? God, in His immense love, pursues us relentlessly even in our sin and apathy. He performs the ultimate act of sacrifice in Christ to bridge the gap our sin created. And He offers the resulting salvation not as a reward for our effort, but as a free gift to be received with simple, trusting faith. All the truly hard work – the seeking, the sacrifice, the provision of grace – He has already done. Michelangelo's painting hinted at it: God expends the divine energy. The cross confirms it. God did all the heavy lifting. This truth demolishes any apathy born from feeling overwhelmed or inadequate. Our part is not to earn, but to receive.

Therefore, I appeal to you today. Don't remain spiritually distant, passive like Adam in the painting. Don't settle for the nauseating lukewarmness of Laodicea. Recognize the staggering reality of God's pursuing love, demonstrated most clearly at the cross. Open your hands and receive His free gift of salvation, His forgiveness, His eternal life, with the simple, trusting faith of a child.

Respond to His reach. Choose today, and every day, to abide in Him, drawing life from the True Vine. Seek His kingdom above all else. Let the wonder of His grace, His relentless pursuit, His unconditional love rekindle the passion in your soul and banish apathy from your heart. He left the ninety-nine to find you. He loved you while you were His enemy. He accomplished everything necessary for your salvation. Will you simply receive His incredible love today? Will you reach back?