Mike Browning

Tag: Christian Life

  • It’s Looking Like You’re Going to Have to Go.

    It’s Looking Like You’re Going to Have to Go.

    Trying to get better is fine — but that’s not what God is asking for.

    Joe Rogan said recently that he’s been going to church. He said something along the lines of: “It’s actually very nice. They’re all just trying to be better people. It’s a good vibe.”

    And that’s good.

    There are a lot of people who could benefit from simply sitting in a place where everyone is at least trying to orient themselves toward something higher than their own impulses.

    And I don’t know what’s in Joe’s heart, but I’m glad he’s going.

    His orientation toward Christianity has changed over the years, and I hope he gets all the way there.

    I also hope he isn’t being used to help people get comfortable with treating the Bible as just a moral framework, while stopping short of confessing that Jesus is Lord. Like many say about Jordan Peterson.

    But regardless of all that, there’s something important to clarify:

    Christianity is not a self-improvement project.

    It’s not “be a better version of yourself.” It’s not a lifestyle upgrade or a moral hobby. It’s not even “learn to be a good person.”

    Because here’s the truth:

    You can’t make yourself good.

    If it were possible to simply try harder and behave your way into righteousness, Jesus wouldn’t have needed to come at all. And the people who followed Him wouldn’t have needed Him either.

    Self-help says: improve yourself.

    The Gospel says: you can’t. That’s why you need Christ.

    Now, it is true that following Jesus will often (not always, but often) lead to better outcomes in life.

    More peace. More patience. Fewer disasters caused by your own stupidity. Better relationships. Less self-inflicted chaos.

    But that isn’t because you’re “getting better.”

    It’s because He is changing you.

    There’s a difference.

    If Christianity were about improving your earthly situation, then Jesus — who never sinned once — should have had an easy life. He didn’t.

    They killed Him.

    The people closest to Him — the ones who became more like Him as they followed — were imprisoned, beaten, mocked, and executed. Not rich. Not adored.

    Not living their “best lives.”

    They didn’t become successful.

    They became sanctified.

    They didn’t get upgrades. They got transformation.

    So when someone goes to church and says, “It’s nice. Everyone’s just trying to be better people,” that’s okay. That’s an entry point. A doorway. A starting step.

    But the deeper truth is:

    The old you doesn’t need to improve.

    The old you needs to die.

    And the new life that comes after — the life in Christ — is something you cannot produce by effort, discipline, or good intentions.

    It’s not self-help.

    It’s surrender.

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  • The Door Is Open — But Will You Walk In?

    The Door Is Open — But Will You Walk In?

    If you don’t get in, it’s because you refused the invitation.

    Jesus said:

    “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children,
    you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” — Matthew 18:3

    That’s not soft language.

    He doesn’t say it would be helpful to be more childlike. He doesn’t say you’ll grow more spiritually if you do. He doesn’t say this is one recommended spiritual posture among many.

    He says unless you change — you will not enter.

    And notice what He doesn’t say.

    He doesn’t say God will refuse you. He doesn’t say you’ll be kept out.

    He says you will not enter.

    Meaning the barrier isn’t at the gate — it’s in the heart.

    It will be your decision.

    Like the older brother in the Prodigal Son account. He was invited into the celebration. The Father wanted him there. The door was open.

    But he would not enter.

    Not couldn’t. Would not.

    Because he wanted the Kingdom on his terms — through merit, performance, and proving himself.

    That’s the tragedy Jesus is pointing to. Not rejection — refusal.

    So the real question becomes:

    What has to change?

    Jesus is not telling us to be childish, naive, or irresponsible.

    Children are not models of wisdom. They are models of dependence.

    A child knows they cannot provide for themselves. They know they are not in control. They know they need the one who loves them. And they are not embarrassed to need Him.

    Adults are.

    Adults spend years constructing a version of themselves that doesn’t need anyone. We build our identities on competence, independence, and control.

    We want to come to God having it all together.

    But the Kingdom is not something we achieve by becoming stronger. It is something we receive by becoming honest.

    A child can receive love because they are not ashamed to need it.

    They don’t apologize for asking. They don’t try to earn it first. They simply trust the Father.

    This is the change Jesus is talking about — the collapse of the part of us that believes we can handle life without God.

    The part that wants to negotiate. The part that wants to understand before obeying. The part that wants to feel in control before moving.

    To become like a child is not to become simple-minded — it is to stop performing.

    To stop pretending we can be righteous on our own.

    To stop approaching God as a business partner, or a distant authority, or a system to manage.

    A child doesn’t ask for the plan. A child reaches for the hand.

    The change Jesus requires is not intellectual.

    It is relational.

    It isn’t about becoming smarter. It’s about becoming truthful.

    Remember when Jesus washed the disciples’ feet.

    They didn’t ask Him to. They didn’t think they needed it.

    Peter even tried to refuse.

    Because letting someone wash you means admitting you need washing.

    It means letting go of dignity, pride, and control.

    But Jesus told him:

    “Unless I wash you, you have no part with Me.”

    Same message. Same Kingdom. Same invitation.

    You don’t wash yourself first.

    You let Him wash you.

    The Kingdom belongs to those who know they need the Father — and are no longer embarrassed to say so.

    You don’t clean yourself up before you come.

    You come — and He does the cleaning.

    You’ve been invited.

    Just go in.

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    P.S. If you don’t have a Bible you’ll actually use, get one.

    Not the fancy kind that sits on a shelf.

    One you can keep open, mark up, and read.

    You can find one here:

    Bibles at Amazon

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