The Subtle Danger of Drift

I love the water, and many of our family’s favorite vacation memories are of days spent on the lake or in the ocean. Swimming, tubing, snorkeling; kayaks, paddleboards, jet skis; even just sitting on the beach, listening to the sound of the waves and feeling the sun on my face while I read a book—for me, there’s nothing as enjoyable or relaxing as a day at the beach. 

However, despite my love for the water, I am not an avid swimmer. In fact, I can’t even say I’m good at swimming. If I’m in over my head, I want a pool noodle for that little bit of additional security. 

My husband, on the other hand, has mastered more swimming strokes than I knew existed (combat side stroke?!) and can swim laps in a pool for more than an hour. He’s a strong swimmer, and if we’re spending the day at a lake with an opposite shore, he’s probably swimming across it (something I’ve learned to deal with but that still distresses his mother). 

This last summer on vacation, we found ourselves on the sandy beaches of Lake Michigan, where, in true northern Michigan fashion, the early June water was frigid, and a stiff breeze was blowing most of the day. 

David headed out for a longer swim, and I stayed on the beach, reading. I periodically checked the horizon for that small dark spot that reassured me he was still there, still swimming. He stayed out a long time, and I was relieved, as always, when I saw the dark spot getting bigger and I knew he was finally swimming back in. 

We spent the rest of the day hunting for Petoskey stones, walking along the beach, and napping while the kids built sand castles. Much later, David told me that his lengthy swim had not been intentional, that after swimming out and treading water for a while, enjoying the immensity of the water around him, he had turned and looked toward shore. 

He said, “That’s when I realized I was a long way out, farther than I thought, and my body was starting to feel chilled. So I did what I’ve always done: I put my head down and started swimming. After a bit, I paused to tread water and to make sure I was still heading towards our spot on the beach. That's when I realized I was further out now than when I had started swimming. I hate to admit it, but I felt…unsettled.” (He refused to say he panicked, but that’s the better word here.) 

“I started to swim hard, but now at a little bit of an angle, flipping on my back to rest when I got tired, trying to reorient myself and stop the panicking thing, and also ensuring I was consistently heading in the right direction. I was never so relieved as when I finally felt sand under my feet.”

Spiritual Drift

What happened to my husband that day in the water is similar to what we see happening to the churches in Galatia. In Galatians 4:8-20, we are given a picture not of open, obvious rebellion, but one of subtle spiritual drift. The Jewish Christians had begun to add non-essential elements of their former life in Judaism into the Gospel, and Paul is gravely concerned. 

Two thousand years later, and we are not so different from the Galatians. Our proneness to return to old patterns of trust, leaning on things other than Christ for security, can quickly pull us into the undertow of spiritual drift, often without our even realizing it. Like ancient Israel, we can find ourselves seeking relationship with the Lord while also trying to hold onto the Baals of this world. What we imagine to be a life vest is often a cement block, slowly dragging us down. The Gospel plus anything else is no longer the Gospel. 

Practically speaking, what does drift look like? How do we recognize it, and how can we avoid it? From the text, we can see several common types of spiritual drift. 

Type 1: Returning to “old masters” for security

“How is it that you are turning back again?” (vv. 8-9) This drift isn't abandoning God, but adding functional saviors to our faith. It looks like finding our identity in success or wealth, finding our security in other people's approval, or leaning into productivity and achievement instead of practicing dependence on God.

Type 2: Replacing relationship with God with religious performance

“You are observing special days and months and seasons and years!” (vv. 9-10) This is an easy trap to fall into, moving from a place of being loved to trying to earn love. This drift from sonship to slavery can look like measuring our spirituality by attendance and routines, feeling closer to God when we’re “doing well” and distant when we’re not, or neglecting honest prayer and intimacy with God in favor of serving, volunteering, or doing.

Type 3: Losing the joy of the gospel

“Where then is that sense of blessing you had?” (vv. 13-15) Experiencing this type of drift reduces our faith to something that is heavy, joyless, or obligatory. We can go through the motions without any sense of gratitude or intimacy. 

Type 4: Confusing truth with comfort

“Have I now become your enemy by telling you the truth?” (vv. 16-17) When we avoid Scriptures or voices that challenge our assumptions and prefer teaching that affirms without transforming, we are in danger of drifting, not because we don’t believe the truth, but because it’s uncomfortable, and so we resist it. 

Jesus First and Only

There’s a line in an old hymn that says, “I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus’ name.” I’ve sung that hymn hundreds of times in my life, the words slipping past my lips in easy agreement. But then I found myself in a difficult season, when what I wanted and thought was best for me, for my family, my children, was not what God was allowing. I could see no path forward, no way to get what I just knew my family needed.

I was sitting at dinner with a counselor friend, sharing my angst about these unmet desires for my family, and she gently said, with spirit-led insight, “I wonder if that’s a sweet frame in your life.” And I immediately knew that she was right. This good thing I wanted for my kids, which I thought was necessary for their well-being, had become a sweet frame that I was trusting in to keep them spiritually safe.

The truth is, it was a good thing I wanted for them! But anything that I value more than Jesus, anything that I think is more necessary for my kids than Jesus, is just a sweet frame that cannot hold up under the weight of what I’m asking of it.

Although I learned the lesson of trust that God had for me that day, I've had to revisit it on many occasions. Every day is a renewed opportunity to trust in God rather than other things. Anytime we make something other than life in Christ the center of our lives, we begin to drift. 

A Prayer: Lord, on my own, I lack the awareness to sense the subtle pull of drift, the temptation to lean on other things than you for security. By your Spirit, enable me to fully trust in Christ as my sufficiency. Moment by moment, in the everyday parts of my life, deliver me from well-worn patterns of trust in other things. Tear down any sweet frame that is keeping me from a life solely dependent on you.