(Credit: InterVarsity Press)

When I decided to follow Jesus, this didn’t change much. I internalized the idea that to be faithful was to be crucified, knowing resurrection was coming but not soon or in full. I had to be strong, wait on the Lord, and take up my cross.

To be a Christian was to resist the evil in the world and the evil in myself. Looking back, I realize that my life did not lack beauty—I just couldn’t see it.

So I embraced the resistance. Or at least a version of it.

I worked for money, for justice, and sometimes for both, but I always stayed busy. For far too long, if I caught a glimpse of beauty, I refused to embrace it because I didn’t have a historical, theological, or emotional category for it. Delight was temporary and therefore unproductive, so it was not worth my time.

I tried to keep an even keel, never growing too excited, angry, or sad, and so my spectrum of emotions narrowed. I built a résumé on my own efforts and righteousness that I asked Jesus to bless and people to like. And since people liked me, I thought Jesus blessed it. My wife and others sounded alarms, but I was unable to respond meaningfully to their invitations to be different or warnings to get off the path.

To be a Christian is to be crucified. 

Yes, and: to be a Christian is to share in the resurrection. To be a Christian is to lay down your life and it is to receive God’s Spirit and God’s kingdom.

That’s what my life was missing. I knew injustice and resistance, but I didn’t know abundant life and beauty. I saw myself as a hammer in God’s toolbox and a soldier in God’s army, not as his kid with a permanent seat at my Father’s table.

I threw myself into work, performing for acceptance, rather than being and receiving. I didn’t see how light was breaking through every day in smiles, laughs, wonderful food, and good music from when I was younger through to today. I was too de-formed and deceived to notice. 

So I allowed God to start re-forming me. 

I needed an often-forgotten part of discipleship: God’s clear and wonderful invitation to beauty and resistance in equal and ever-increasing measure, personally and corporately for our benefit and God’s glory. This would also be the case if the opposite were true. 

If my life had been saturated with beauty, and resistance were merely an afterthought, I would still need a healthy awareness of both. If I expected comfort instead of struggle, my daily life would inevitably be pierced by the suffering, distress, destruction, and upheaval of others—whether in my Instagram feed, through family members sharing links in the group chat, or during holiday conversations that would leave me anxious or concerned. Unhoused neighbors in need or peaceful protesters would disrupt my morning commute and I might want to make a change but feel unsure about where to begin. 

Once I started to engage, issues like poverty, White supremacy, patriarchy, genocide, healthcare, and immigration would seem overwhelming. I’d tell myself that managing daily responsibilities was hard enough. So I’d likely end up turning up the volume on the headphones of my life, focus on more self-care, and try to filter out the sounds of war, mass shootings, and political turmoil—until it all became too loud to ignore again. Eventually, I’d feel that familiar sense of being overwhelmed, and the cycle of disruption, disengagement, outrage, and burnout would start all over. 

God made us for more than this. 

Wherever we find ourselves on the spectrum between resistance and beauty, whether through our history or preference, I am convinced a healthy life with Jesus holds an awareness of and engagement with both—usually at the same time. I am convinced we can build the scaffolding for a new life with Christ in pursuit of his beloved community together.

Editor’s Note: The following is an adapted excerpt from Beauty and Resistance by Jonathan P. Walton. Copyright (c) 2025 by Jonathan P. Walton. Used by permission of InterVarsity Press