Lest We Drift

The Danger of Drift: Finding Your Way Back to the Anchor
There's a peculiar dream that haunts many of us, though we might not recognize it in our waking hours. It's the dream of wandering past home, of walking by warmth and love and safety in pursuit of something we can't quite name. It's the dream of finding ourselves lost at sea, rowing furiously against waves that threaten to dash us against the rocks, all while the shore—and the one who loves us—waits patiently for our return.
This isn't just a dream. It's a spiritual reality that plays out in the lives of believers more often than we'd like to admit.
The Subtle Current of Spiritual Drift
Drift is one of the most dangerous phenomena in the Christian life precisely because it's so subtle. We don't wake up one morning and decide to abandon our faith. We don't consciously choose to walk away from the gospel. Instead, we slowly, almost imperceptibly, begin to shift our focus. Our attention moves away from the finished work of Christ, and our confidence gradually transfers from the gospel to ourselves.
The writer of Hebrews understood this danger well: "Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it" (Hebrews 2:1). The imagery is powerful—drift happens when we stop paying attention, when we let our guard down, when we assume we're safe simply because we once anchored ourselves to truth.
The Many Faces of Self-Righteousness
One of the most insidious forms of drift is the slow slide into self-righteousness. It doesn't always look like pride or arrogance. Sometimes it masquerades as spiritual maturity or theological precision. We begin measuring our righteousness by comparison rather than by Christ.
Jesus addressed this directly in Matthew 7:3-5, asking why we focus on the speck in our brother's eye while ignoring the log in our own. The irony is almost comical—once we've removed a log from our own eye, we probably won't be too concerned with removing specks from others. But we do it anyway. We measure ourselves against other believers, other denominations, other theological positions. We look at the lost world and think, "Thank God I'm not like them."
This was precisely the attitude Jesus condemned in the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector (Luke 18:9-14). The Pharisee stood in the temple and essentially gave God a resume: "I fast twice a week. I give tithes of all I get. I'm not like other people—extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector."
Meanwhile, the tax collector couldn't even lift his eyes to heaven. He simply beat his breast and said, "God, be merciful to me, a sinner."
Which one went home justified?
The Idol of Good Works
Here's where things get tricky: good works aren't bad. Reading your Bible, attending church, volunteering, serving others—these are all things believers should do. But when our confidence in salvation rests in what we do or don't do, we've built our foundation on sand.
Good works can become an idol. When we derive our assurance from our performance rather than from Christ's performance on our behalf, we've drifted from the gospel. We've begun rowing our own boat out to sea, trusting in the strength of our arms rather than the anchor that holds us fast.
The Apostle Paul understood this tendency in human nature. That's why in every letter he wrote, he consistently re-proclaimed the gospel. He knew that the churches—and we—are the same today as they were then. We're people who constantly add to, shift from, or drift away from "Christ alone." We lean into legalism, philosophy, spiritual experiences, feelings, social identity, and countless other things that promise security but deliver only exhaustion.
The Gospel of First Importance
In 1 Corinthians 15:1-4, Paul reminds the Corinthian church of what matters most: "Now I would remind you, brothers, of the gospel I preached to you, which you received, in which you stand, and by which you are being saved, if you hold fast to the word I preached to you—unless you believed in vain. For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures."
Notice the language: "I would remind you." Paul isn't introducing something new. He's calling them back to what they already know but need to hear again. The life of a Christian is one that constantly needs to be redirected toward Christ. It's a life of ongoing repentance—not as a shameful burden, but as a joyful return to the arms of a loving Savior.
Repentance isn't just for the beginning of the Christian life. It's what keeps us on the path. Proverbs 4:27 instructs us: "Do not swerve to the right or to the left; turn your foot away from evil." We need this constant course correction because we're constantly tempted to drift.
The Joy of Coming Home
Here's the beautiful truth that should make our hearts leap: when we drift, when we row ourselves out to sea and beat our hands bloody trying to save ourselves, when we crash against the rocks of our own making—God doesn't abandon us. The winds of His grace and mercy urge us back to safety.
Like the father in the parable of the prodigal son, God watches for our return. When we come stumbling back, exhausted from our wandering, He doesn't lecture us or shame us. He runs to meet us. He wraps us in His arms of forgiveness. He clothes us in the robe of Christ's righteousness. He gives us a ring declaring we are His own. He prepares a feast and throws a celebration.
This is the gospel. This is what we need to hear not just once, but constantly. We need to be reminded that our confidence doesn't rest in our ability to stay faithful, but in Christ's faithfulness to us. We need to hear that we're saved by grace through faith, not by our works, so that no one can boast (Ephesians 2:8-9).
Anchored in Christ
The solution to drift isn't to try harder or do more. It's to fix our eyes more firmly on Jesus, "the founder and perfecter of our faith" (Hebrews 12:2). It's to remember that Christ died for sinners—for the weak, the sick, the lame. While we were yet enemies of God, Christ died for us (Romans 5:8).
This is where we find our assurance. This is where we find our confidence. Not in ourselves, not in comparison to others, not in our good works or spiritual disciplines, but in the finished work of Jesus Christ on the cross.
So if you recognize drift in your life—whether through self-righteousness, trusting your own works, or simply losing sight of Christ—this is your moment to repent. Not with shame, but with joy. Turn back to Jesus who has already carried your sin and offers forgiveness freely.
The anchor holds. It always has. The question is whether we'll stop rowing and let it do its work.