Hope Wakes Us Up

Grace That Won’t Let Us Go

If you’ve ever seen Tokyo Drift, you know the whole point of drifting isn’t speed—it’s control. Drifting looks impressive. Intentional. Skilled. The driver turns the wheel just enough, taps the brake at the right moment, and lets the car slide sideways—still moving forward, still technically on the road. But here’s the thing the movie makes clear over and over again: drift too far, misjudge the angle, or stop paying attention for even a second—and you don’t just slide… you crash.

No one drifts by accident in the movie. But plenty of people wreck because they thought they had drift under control. That’s how faith drift works too. Maybe you’ve seen it in someone else’s life. You can watch it happening in real time—slowly moving away from God. Decisions begin to change. Attitudes shift. Relationships strain. Priorities rearrange themselves. And eventually, it becomes obvious that something is off. They’re spiraling, and it’s hard to miss.

But what if it doesn’t look like that? What if spiritual drift isn’t dramatic? What if it isn’t loud or obvious or destructive right away? What if it doesn’t look like someone falling apart—but someone who seems fine? Spiritual drift doesn’t have to be extreme. You don’t have to be spinning wildly out of control. Drift is often subtle—almost gentle. It doesn’t look like rebellion; it looks like confidence. It doesn’t look like weakness; it looks like strength.

It sounds like: “I’ve got this.” “I know this.” “I’ve been doing this a long time.” “I’m in control.” You’re still moving. Still active. Still involved. Still on the road. Maybe you’re even still present. But slowly—almost imperceptibly—you’re no longer headed straight. You’re out of control… you just don’t know it yet. You didn’t leave God. You didn’t deny the faith. You didn’t slam on the brakes. You just loosened your grip on the wheel. You glanced down at your phone. Adjusted your mirrors. Found just the right song on the radio. And before you even realized it, you were drifting—away from Christ, away from His Church, maybe even away from people who love you most.

You’re no longer in control—you just think you are. And the dangerous thing about drift—whether it’s a car or your soul—is that it feels controlled. It feels comfortable. It feels right… until suddenly it’s not. That’s why Scripture warns us so directly: “We must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away.” This warning is not written to people who stopped believing. It’s written to people who were still moving—just not carefully. At the start of this new year, God isn’t accusing us of speeding. He’s warning us about drifting.

Because hope isn’t just about getting moving again. Hope is about realigning our direction before we lose control. With vehicles, most wrecks don’t happen because someone panics. They happen because someone gets comfortable. And that’s exactly the concern behind Hebrews 2. The writer does not warn the church about rebellion. He doesn’t accuse them of abandoning the faith. He doesn’t say they are chasing the wrong road or running too fast. Instead, he says something far more unsettling: “Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it.” The danger is not panic. The danger is inattention. Hebrews assumes movement. Drift only happens if you’re already in motion. You don’t drift from the couch—you drift from the road. This warning is written to believers. Faithful people who loved God and wanted to serve Him and were passionate about Him. People who had heard the gospel, responded to it, and were still moving forward. They wanted to spread the Gospel, wanted to make disciples, feed the hungry, clothe the poor. They were, as they say, good church going people. They were moving, just not going anywhere.

But movement without attention is dangerous. The problem isn’t that they stopped believing. The problem is that they stopped listening. Then the writer tightens the warning. He reminds them that when God spoke before—through the law—disobedience had consequences. And now, God has spoken through His Son. Not in whispers. Not in suggestions. But with a message confirmed by eyewitnesses, signs, wonders, and the power of the Holy Spirit. Which leads to the piercing question of verse 3: “How shall we escape if we neglect so great a salvation?”

Notice the word. Not reject. Neglect. No panic. No rebellion. Just comfort. Familiarity. Inattention. That’s how faith drifts. The word neglect in the Greek carries the meaning “to be unconcerned.” The writer—most likely Paul—is not addressing unbelievers who have rejected Christ. He is writing to those who have heard, responded, and are still following.

He is writing to us. Those who have heard the Word of God. Those who have studied it. Those who have accepted it. Those who are walking with Christ. And his warning is clear: hearing the Word is not enough. We must pay attention to it. We must not let it slip past us. We are called to pay closer attention—to live lives shaped by obedience, prayer, and faithfulness. And here is the grace in this passage. God is still calling.

This is prevenient grace at work—the grace that goes before us, meets us where we are, and calls us back even when we don’t realize we’ve drifted. God is at work even when we don’t feel Him the way we expect. He is here now, calling us into deeper relationship with Him. This grace is offered to all. But not all receive it—not because God doesn’t invite them, but because they neglect Him. We must be careful with our faith. We must not let familiarity replace faithfulness. Comfort can be one of the most dangerous places for a believer to live. When faith becomes comfortable, attention fades. We stop watching for warning signs. We stop noticing temptation. We stop listening closely.

Remember that comfortable faith is a lukewarm faith—and lukewarm faith serves no purpose that we talked about before. It can give us a false sense of security, a feeling of being “good enough,” without ever fully surrendering our lives to Christ. There are many people who have convinced themselves they were secure simply because they were familiar with faith—but they stopped paying attention. They stopped devoting themselves to prayer, to Scripture, to fellowship with God’s people. But the good news—the grace—is this: it is never too late to come back. It is my prayer and hope that we are going to have a busy year. As I said before, I’m going to ask some things of you and I may push you gently out of your comfort zones. I’m going to add something to that, I’m going to ask you to push me as well. I want to see what a church can do, a church that loves God, our community, our neighbors, ourselves and each other. I want to call down the power of God on this place and upon each of you and let’s see what our God can do. And to do this, we have to pay attention to what He is calling us to do.

Grace is still at work. We can stop paying attention to the wrong things. We can stop drifting. We can return to the path that leads to life in Jesus Christ. We don’t have to live spiritually out of control. There is hope in repentance. There is peace in surrender. There is expectation in God’s kingdom. So as you leave here today, let me ask you: Are you ready to take back control of what has your attention? Are you ready to pay closer attention to what God is calling you to do? Are you ready to stop pretending you have it all figured out and live a life fully surrendered to God?

God is calling you just as you are. You don’t have to drift any longer. Take His hand. Trust Him to straighten your path, smooth the rough places, and bring peace in the midst of chaos. All you have to do… is pay attention.