I like abundance. Who doesn’t?

There. I’ve said it.

I like having enough.

Enough food.

Enough money to pay the bills.

Enough time to do the things I enjoy.

Enough resources to take care of my family and occasionally do something special.

And if I’m being completely candid, I don’t particularly mind having a little more than enough.

I suspect I’m not alone.

We live in a world that constantly encourages us to pursue abundance.

More money.

A bigger house.

A nicer car.

More possessions.

More experiences.

More recognition.

More influence.

More comfort.

And somewhere along the way, it’s easy to begin believing that if we could just accumulate enough of those things, we’d finally have the life we’ve been longing for.

But Jesus said something that has been challenging my thinking since it came up a few days ago in the devotional my wife and I do each day:

Other translations use the phrase abundant life.

I love that phrase.

But I’ve been wondering whether I really understand what Jesus meant by it.

Because when I look at His life, I see something very different from the abundance the world has encouraged people to pursue, both in Jesus’ day and in ours.

The Abundant Life of Jesus

Think about Jesus for a moment. He is, after all, the model we’re supposed to be following.

He didn’t own a beautiful home.

He didn’t accumulate wealth.

He didn’t have a retirement account.

He didn’t travel in luxury.

He didn’t surround Himself with expensive possessions.

He didn’t pursue political power.

And although He certainly had influence, He repeatedly refused opportunities to turn that influence into the kind of earthly power people expected from the Messiah.

In fact, He once said:

“Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”

Luke 9:58 (NIV)

By the world’s standards, that doesn’t sound particularly abundant.

And yet I can’t imagine anyone who has ever lived a more abundant life than Jesus.

So what did His abundance look like?

I think there are some clues in the way He lived.

He stayed connected to His Father

One of the things that has always struck me about Jesus is how often He withdrew to pray.

He constantly had people demanding His attention.

Crowds wanting miracles.

Disciples needing instruction.

Religious leaders challenging Him.

People who were sick, hurting, confused and desperate for help.

If anyone ever had a legitimate excuse for being too busy to pray, it was Jesus.

And yet Luke tells us:

But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.

Luke 5:16 (NIV)

Often.

Not occasionally.

Not when He had time.

Not only when things became overwhelming.

Often.

Jesus made time to be with His Father.

He lived in continual relationship with the One who loved Him, sent Him and sustained Him.

I think there’s a lesson for me there.

How often do I treat prayer as something I need to squeeze into an already crowded schedule?

Or worse, something I turn to primarily when I need God to do something?

Jesus modeled something much deeper.

Prayer wasn’t merely a way to request help.

It was communion.

Relationship.

Intimacy.

The opportunity to be with His Father, the One who strengthened Him.

And perhaps that is one of the greatest expressions of abundant life available to us.

Not merely receiving things from God, but enjoying God Himself.

He invested in relationships

Jesus also spent an extraordinary amount of time with people.

He ate with them.

Walked with them.

Talked with them.

Celebrated with them.

Wept with them.

He attended weddings.

Visited homes.

Shared meals.

Developed friendships.

And poured Himself into a relatively small group of people who would eventually carry His message into the world.

Those people weren’t always easy to love.

The disciples argued about which of them was the greatest.

They misunderstood Him.

They sometimes demonstrated remarkably little faith.

They fell asleep when He needed them to pray.

And when He was arrested, most of them ran away.

Not exactly the ideal group of friends.

And yet Jesus loved them.

He invested in them.

He shared His life with them.

He even called them His friends.

I wonder whether we’ve underestimated how much of the abundance God intends for us is found in relationships.

Not superficial acquaintances.

Not the number of contacts in our phones.

Not the number of followers on social media.

But people who really know us.

People with whom we can laugh.

People with whom we can cry.

People who will tell us the truth when we need to hear it.

People who love us despite knowing our weaknesses.

And people we have the privilege of loving in return.

Of course, relationships can be messy.

Families can be frustrating, even annoying at times.

Friends can disappoint us.

And sometimes the people we love most are the ones who test our patience most thoroughly.

But perhaps that’s part of the gift.

Because relationships don’t merely provide comfort.

They also teach us how to love.

Raising my children taught me something about unconditional love that I don’t think I could have learned any other way. I discovered that my love for them didn’t depend on their behavior, their accomplishments or their ability to return that love.

And perhaps that’s given me just a little glimpse of how our Heavenly Father loves us.

And I suspect that learning to love well is an essential part of living abundantly.

He lived with gratitude

Another thing I notice about Jesus is His gratitude.

Before feeding the thousands, He gave thanks.

Before raising Lazarus, He thanked His Father.

At the Last Supper, He gave thanks as He shared bread and wine with His disciples.

Even with the cross approaching, gratitude remained part of His life.

That’s remarkable.

Jesus wasn’t grateful because everything was comfortable.

He wasn’t grateful because everyone treated Him well.

He wasn’t grateful because His circumstances were always pleasant.

His gratitude flowed naturally from His perfect relationship with His Father and His trust in the Father’s goodness.

I wonder how much abundance I miss simply because I’m too busy noticing what I don’t have.

Or what isn’t working.

Or what I wish were different.

I can become so focused on the next thing that needs to be done that I barely notice the blessings already surrounding me.

And yet gratitude has a remarkable way of changing how I experience life.

It doesn’t necessarily change my circumstances.

But it changes what I see.

Perhaps abundance isn’t always about having more. Sometimes it’s about recognizing how much I’ve already been given.

The Thief Who Wants to Steal It

But John 10:10 doesn’t begin with Jesus’ promise of abundant life.

It begins with a warning.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy…”

In the immediate context, Jesus is contrasting Himself, the Good Shepherd, with those who exploit or endanger the sheep. I don’t want to overlook that.

But Scripture also makes it clear that we have a spiritual enemy who actively opposes God’s purposes.

Peter warns us:

Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.

1 Peter 5:8 (NIV)

Now, I realize that some people are uncomfortable talking about Satan or spiritual warfare.

Some don’t believe there’s a personal spiritual enemy at all.

Others acknowledge his existence but rarely think about what he might be doing.

And I suspect the enemy is perfectly happy with either approach if it leaves us unprepared.

I believe spiritual warfare is real.

But that’s a much bigger subject than I want to tackle today.

For now, I’ll simply say that I believe the enemy actively works to keep us from developing the kind of deep, intimate relationship with God that Jesus came to make possible.

And I don’t think his tactics are always particularly dramatic.

In fact, some of the most effective ones may be so ordinary that we hardly recognize them.

I’ve certainly seen evidence of them in my own life.

He helps me justify what I know is wrong

This may be one of his oldest and most effective tactics.

I know something isn’t right.

Perhaps it’s an attitude.

A thought.

A choice.

Something I’ve said.

Something I’m tempted to do.

But instead of simply acknowledging it, I start explaining why it’s understandable.

Why it’s not really that bad.

Why someone else is doing something worse.

Why my circumstances are different.

Why God surely understands.

And of course, God does understand.

But understanding isn’t the same thing as approval.

The enemy doesn’t always need to convince me that sin is good.

Sometimes he only needs to convince me that my particular sin is justified.

And every time I accept that argument, I create a little more distance between myself and the abundant life God wants me to experience.

Not because God has stopped loving me.

But because I’m choosing something that interferes with my enjoyment of His presence.

He makes me question what God has said

Remember the serpent’s opening question in the Garden of Eden?

“Did God really say…?”

Genesis 3:1 (NIV)

It’s a remarkably effective strategy.

And it still works.

Did God really say I should forgive that person?

Did He really mean I should love my enemies?

Does He really expect me to be generous?

Does He really care about what I watch, what I say or what I think?

Does He really expect me to trust Him when I can’t see what He’s doing?

Sometimes the questions are legitimate attempts to understand Scripture.

There’s nothing wrong with asking honest questions.

But there’s a difference between seeking understanding and looking for an excuse to disregard what God has already made clear.

I’ve done both.

And I suspect I’m not alone.

He makes what I don’t have seem more important than what I do

This one is particularly sneaky.

Because money isn’t inherently evil.

Neither are possessions.

Or success.

Or influence.

Or comfort.

God can use all of those things for good.

But they can also become cheap substitutes for Him.

The enemy doesn’t necessarily need to make me worship something obviously wicked.

Sometimes he can simply make something good seem ultimate.

If I just had a little more money…

A little more security…

A little more recognition…

A little more comfort…

Then I’d be happy.

Then I’d be satisfied.

Then I’d finally be able to relax.

But there’s always another level.

Another purchase.

Another goal.

Another comparison.

Another thing I don’t have.

And while I’m chasing the abundance the world promises, I can easily overlook the abundance Jesus has already offered.

There’s a related trap I’ve fallen into more times than I’d like to admit: comparison.

Someone else has a nicer house.

A more successful career.

A better vacation.

A more impressive accomplishment.

A seemingly easier life.

And suddenly the things for which I was grateful five minutes ago don’t seem quite as wonderful.

Nothing about my circumstances has changed.

But my perspective has.

Comparison can turn blessings into disappointments.

And it can rob me of the joy that was available all along.

He knows where I’ve stumbled before

I don’t believe Satan is omniscient.

He isn’t God.

I don’t believe he can simply read every thought in my mind.

But I do believe our spiritual enemy is observant.

And persistent.

He doesn’t have to know everything about me to recognize patterns.

He can see what has tempted me before.

The circumstances in which I’ve made poor decisions.

The kinds of situations that weaken my resolve.

The things that appeal to my pride.

My impatience.

My insecurities.

My desire to be right.

My tendency to rely on myself.

And sometimes the same old temptation returns wearing slightly different clothes.

I’ve occasionally found myself thinking, Haven’t I already dealt with this?

Apparently not completely.

But perhaps recognizing the pattern is part of learning to resist it.

He keeps me too busy to notice God

This one may be particularly effective in my life.

I like accomplishing things.

I like solving problems.

I like checking things off a list.

And there’s nothing wrong with any of that.

Until the doing crowds out the being.

Until I become so occupied with projects, responsibilities and plans that I no longer have much time to sit quietly with God.

Or notice His blessings.

Or invest in the people I love.

Or simply enjoy being alive.

The enemy doesn’t necessarily need to persuade me to abandon my faith.

Perhaps he can accomplish a great deal simply by keeping me too distracted to enjoy it. There’s always “just one more thing” to be done.

A life can be full of activity and still be remarkably empty of abundance.

He uses guilt and shame to keep me at a distance from God

There’s an important difference between conviction and condemnation.

When the Holy Spirit convicts me of sin, He is inviting me to repent and return to God.

But shame can whisper something very different.

You’ve failed again.

God must be tired of dealing with you.

You call yourself a Christian?

You might as well stop trying.

And if I listen to those accusations, I can begin avoiding the very One who offers forgiveness and restoration.

What a tragic reversal.

Jesus came to reconcile us to God.

The enemy wants us to believe our failures have made that relationship hopeless.

But Paul reminds us:

“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”

Romans 8:1 (NIV)

That’s a promise worth remembering when shame comes knocking.

He encourages me to rely on myself

This one may be the most subtle of all.

Because self-reliance can look like a virtue, especially in my American culture.

Be responsible.

Work hard.

Solve problems.

Prepare for the future.

Those are generally good things.

But somewhere along the way, I can begin acting as though everything depends on me.

My intelligence.

My strength.

My resources.

My planning.

My ability to figure things out.

And I gradually stop depending on God.

Not because I’ve consciously rejected Him.

But because I’ve become accustomed to handling things myself.

Without meaning to—and often without even realizing it—I’ve sometimes made myself my own god.

It’s a strange way to live when the Creator of the universe has invited me into a personal relationship with Him.

And yet I do it surprisingly often.

The Life Jesus Came to Give

As I think about these tactics, something stands out to me.

They all seem to have something in common.

They distract me from God.

They interfere with my relationships.

They distort my perspective.

They steal my gratitude.

They replace trust with fear.

They replace contentment with craving.

They replace intimacy with distance.

And they make it harder for me to experience the very life Jesus came to give.

But here’s the good news.

The thief doesn’t get the final word.

Jesus does.

And that’s especially important when we remember the context of Jesus’ promise. He’s describing Himself as the Good Shepherd—the One who knows His sheep, calls them, leads them, and ultimately lays down His life for them. The abundant life He offers isn’t something separate from Him. It’s found in knowing and following the Shepherd Himself.

And Jesus said:

“I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”

Not merely existence.

Not simply surviving another day.

Not accumulating enough possessions to feel successful.

But life.

Real life.

Life rooted in a relationship with the One who created us.

Life that begins now and continues into eternity.

Life that can be rich and meaningful even when circumstances are difficult.

Even when money is tight.

Even when our health isn’t what we’d like.

Even when relationships are complicated.

Even when the future is uncertain.

That doesn’t mean suffering is good or that Christians should pretend everything is wonderful.

Jesus certainly didn’t.

He experienced grief.

Exhaustion.

Rejection.

Pain.

And ultimately, the cross.

Yet through His suffering, Jesus remained faithful to His Father and fulfilled the very mission for which He had come.

And perhaps that’s the most important lesson.

Abundant life isn’t the absence of difficulty. It’s the presence of Christ.

More Than Enough

I’ve been thinking about what abundant life might look like for me right now.

And the more I think about it, the less it seems to depend on accumulating anything else.

It looks like having time to walk and talk with God.

Not just asking Him for things.

But enjoying His company.

Listening.

Thanking Him.

Bringing Him my questions.

Sharing my concerns.

And remembering that He actually wants to hear from me.

It looks like spending time with my wife.

Enjoying the family God has given us.

Laughing with friends.

Being available when someone needs help.

Having conversations that go beyond the weather or whatever happened in the news yesterday.

It looks like having opportunities to serve.

To encourage someone.

To share something I’ve learned.

To use the gifts and abilities God has entrusted to me.

It looks like having the freedom to enjoy the world He’s created.

A beautiful sunrise.

A walk outdoors.

A meal with people I love.

A quiet afternoon.

An unexpected kindness.

A moment of laughter.

And sometimes, simply the opportunity to stop long enough to appreciate it all.

None of those things requires extraordinary wealth.

Or power.

Or fame.

Or a perfectly comfortable life.

They require something both simpler and, in some ways, more difficult.

A heart that recognizes what matters.

A heart that stays connected to God.

A heart that makes room for people.

A heart that chooses gratitude over comparison.

A heart that recognizes the enemy’s distractions and refuses to surrender its joy to them.

And a heart that trusts Jesus when He says He came to give us abundant life.

I’m not suggesting that I’ve mastered any of this.

Far from it.

I still get distracted.

I still pursue things that don’t satisfy.

I still allow busyness to crowd out what matters.

I still fall for some of the same old temptations.

And I still occasionally measure my life by standards Jesus never asked me to use.

But I’m learning.

And perhaps that’s part of abundant life, too.

Growing.

Returning.

Receiving grace.

Learning to recognize the Shepherd’s voice.

And discovering, little by little, that the life He offers is better than the one I’ve been trying so hard to construct for myself.

Jesus didn’t promise that following Him would make us wealthy.

Or powerful.

Or comfortable.

Or free from suffering.

He promised something better.

Himself.

And the more I come to know Him, the more I realize that what He offers isn’t just enough.

It’s abundance.