“Behold, I will do a new thing; now it shall spring forth; shall ye not know it? I will even make a way in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert.” – Isaiah 43:18-19
Let’s be honest: most of us are far more like Judas than Mary. We’re practical, responsible, and prudent, and it’s killing our spiritual life.
When Mary poured out perfume worth a year’s wages on Jesus’ feet, Judas immediately did what most church finance committees would do—he calculated the opportunity cost. “Why wasn’t this sold and given to the poor?” It sounds spiritual. Sounds responsible. Sounds like exactly what most churches would say today.
But Jesus called it out for what it was: a practical mindset masquerading as spiritual concern.
The hard truth is that most of us live with a “budget mentality” in our spiritual lives—carefully managing our emotional investment, rationing our devotion, and keeping our commitment to comfortable levels that don’t disrupt our real priorities. And then we wonder why we’re not experiencing the transformation God promises.
The Wilderness Way (Isaiah 43:16-21)
God doesn’t start with a blank slate. He reminds Israel of their origin story—parting the Red Sea, defeating Pharaoh’s army. This is critical because transformation requires trust, and trust requires a track record.
But then comes the unexpected pivot: “Remember not the former things.” Wait, didn’t God just ask them to remember? Yes, because the past matters—but not as a limitation on what God can do next.
Most conventional Christians have become experts at remembering the wrong things. We remember our failures when God has forgiven them. We remember our victories when God wants to do something new. We remember our disappointments when God promises rivers in the desert.
The bottom line is that if your memory of the past limits your expectation of what God can do today, you’re remembering the wrong things.
When’s the last time your faith pushed you past your comfort zone? When did your prayers last stretch beyond what seems reasonable or practical? Where are you settling for desert survival when God promises rivers of abundance?
From Weeping to Reaping (Psalm 126)
Psalm 126 beautifully captures two phases of God’s transformation: the suddenness of deliverance and the process of restoration.
“When the LORD turned again the captivity of Zion, we were like them that dream.” Some breakthroughs feel dreamlike—so good you can hardly believe they’re real. Notice God’s the actor here. The Israelites didn’t strategize their way out of Babylon. They didn’t attend a “7 Steps to End Your Captivity” seminar. God turned their captivity; their job was simply to receive with astonished joy.
But the psalm doesn’t end there. “They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.” This is where conventional Christianity often fails—we want the breakthrough without the breaking, the harvest without the hard work, the resurrection without the cross.
Most churchgoers I talk to are trying to skip the “sowing in tears” part. They want God to do a new thing but aren’t willing to plant the necessary seeds—seeds of repentance, vulnerability, generosity, forgiveness—often watered by tears.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: transformation typically begins with tears. What seed are you avoiding planting because you’re afraid of the tears it might cost you?
Counting Loss as Gain (Philippians 3:4-14)
Nobody had more going for them than Paul—perfect pedigree, elite education, rising-star status. By every conventional measure, he was winning at the religion game.
Then he encountered Jesus, and his entire value system flipped: “But what things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ.”
The Greek word for “loss” here is fascinating—it’s the same word used for cargo tossed overboard in a storm. Paul isn’t being humble or modest. He’s being ruthlessly practical. Compared to knowing Christ, his impressive resume was deadweight, threatening to sink him.
Most conventional Christians never experience transformation because they’re unwilling to throw anything overboard. We want to add Jesus to our already-overloaded lives without subtracting anything. We want resurrection power without the pain of death to self.
Paul understood what we miss: you can’t grasp the new while clutching the old.
What are you still clutching that might prevent you from fully experiencing Christ? What achievements, relationships, comforts, or identities have become so central that they compete with Jesus for first place?
The Fragrance of Devotion (John 12:1-8)
Six days before Passover, Jesus returns to Bethany, where he had recently raised Lazarus from the dead. In this atmosphere of resurrection, Mary makes her extravagant gesture—breaking open perfume worth a year’s salary and lavishing it on Jesus.
The house fills with fragrance, a powerful metaphor for how true devotion affects everything around it. Extravagant love cannot be contained; it permeates every aspect of life.
But Judas objects: “Why wasn’t this sold and given to the poor?” His question sounds reasonable, spiritual, even compassionate. But Jesus sees through it: “Leave her alone.” Mary’s “wasteful” worship was actually prophetic preparation for his burial.
This is where conventional Christianity consistently misses God’s activity—we’re so busy being practical, reasonable, and measured that we miss moments that demand extravagance.
Think about it: When’s the last time your devotion to Jesus looked financially irresponsible? When did your worship last strike others as excessive? When has your obedience appeared foolish by conventional standards?
If the answer is “never,” you might be stuck in Judas-style practical Christianity. And that’s a dangerous place to be.
Conclusion
God’s “new thing” isn’t a slight upgrade on the old—it’s resurrection life breaking into dead places. It’s wilderness transformed into a highway, a desert blooming with rivers. But experiencing this transformation requires us to release our grip on “former things”—whether past failures or successes, comfort zones or conventional wisdom.
The path forward isn’t more conventional, practical, or measured Christianity. It’s Mary-like devotion that appears wasteful to pragmatists. It’s Paul-like willingness to throw achievements overboard for the sake of knowing Christ. It’s sowing tears with the confidence that joy will follow.
Perhaps it’s time to ask ourselves: Are we clutching conventional practicality at the expense of transformation? Are you more concerned with looking responsible than experiencing resurrection?
Things to Ponder
- Identify your “year’s wages.” What resource (time, money, reputation) are you protecting that God might ask you to pour out extravagantly? Take one step this week to release it.
- Name your deadweight. What achievement or identity would you struggle most to toss overboard if your spiritual life depended on it? Write it down and pray specifically about your attachment to it.
- Plant a tearful seed. What difficult conversation, act of forgiveness, or step of obedience have you been avoiding? Schedule it this week, accepting that tears may be part of the process.
- Examine your practical objections. When was the last time you used “being responsible” as an excuse to avoid God’s prompting? Make one “irresponsible” choice for God this week.
- Find your desert. In what area have you settled for survival instead of expecting transformation? Write a specific prayer asking for “rivers” in this place.
Prayer
Father of resurrection power, forgive us for settling for practical, conventional, comfortable faith when you’re offering transformation. We’ve been too reasonable, too measured, too afraid of looking foolish. Open our eyes to see the rivers you want to bring forth in our desert places. Give us courage to release our grip on former things, to throw overboard what’s weighing us down, to pour out what we’ve been carefully preserving. Make us extravagant in our devotion, willing to appear irresponsible and excessive to those who don’t understand. And when we sow in tears, strengthen us with the promise of joy to come. We pray this in the name of Jesus, who makes all things new. Amen.
“I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.” – Philippians 3:14
Josh Cehulik 