There is a way of life that sounds Christian, feels righteous, and even clothes itself in Scripture – but is not the call of Christ. I know its tug, for I have felt it in my own heart. It is what I will call a false calling.
The false calling whispers: The world is broken, therefore we must fix it. It imagines disciples as architects of a better Babylon, spreading out blueprints across the ruins, climbing ladders to seize the mountains. Its posture is conquest. Its tools are power, control, and domination. Its horizon is a world finally engineered into order.
It sounds noble. Who would not want to end poverty, sweep away corruption, silence injustice, and bend the world toward righteousness? Yet here lies the danger: this calling places the wrong thing at the center. Either it centers the world-system, as though God’s people exist to polish what is passing away, or it centers ourselves, as though our hands could build what only Christ will make new.
Scripture reminds us otherwise.
- Jesus said, “The poor you will always have with you” (Matt. 26:11) – not to harden us to need, but to summon us into unending mercy.
- Paul said, “Creation was subjected to futility” (Rom. 8:20), and yet also that it “groans in labor pains until now” (v. 22) – futility and hope interwoven until the King restores all things.
- John said, “Do not love the world or the things in the world” (1 John 2:15) – not because the world is worthless, but because it is fading, awaiting resurrection.
This is not to say Christians withdraw from the world or refuse good labor. Far from it. The true calling sends us into the world, but not as conquerors, not with illusions of control, not as if the kingdom could be engineered by us. A teacher may teach, a doctor may heal, a leader may govern, a neighbor may serve – yet all as acts of worship, as witnesses to Christ, as servants of His kingdom.
The true calling is not to fix but to respond. We respond to God in worship, to Christ in obedience, to our neighbor in love. Responding is relational, not systemic. It is small, not grand. Yet in the kingdom of Christ, small is never wasted: the mustard seed grows into a tree, the yeast leavens the whole loaf, the cup of cold water given in His name is remembered forever.
It looks like the Samaritan stopping on the roadside, the widow offering two coins, the disciple handing out bread at the Lord’s command. It is not glamorous. It rarely shifts statistics. But it glorifies God.
False callings promise glory for us; true calling returns glory to Him. False callings compel us to grasp; true calling invites us to open our hands. False callings tempt us with the pride of dominion; true calling humbles us into the posture of service.
Yes, the world is broken. Yes, systems are corrupt. Yes, the ruins are real. But Christ never told His followers to rebuild Babylon’s walls by their own design. He told them to follow Him, to wash feet, to bear witness, to take up the cross. Look and live. From beholding is born love, not conquest.
So I will name this false calling plainly, even as I confess my own attraction to it: the calling to fix the world. However well-intentioned, it is still a grasping after fruit not given, a tower built upon sand. The true call is humbler and harder: to live as pilgrims among the ruins, faithful in presence, generous in love, steadfast in hope… until the Builder Himself comes with pierced hands to make all things new.
Every hard journey is eased by good companions, and your steps alongside mine are a gift to me.
Should you wish, you may contribute some coin to the Pilgrim’s Purse.
Marking: The Tower and the Altar
We dreamed of towers,
blueprints spread upon the rubble,
stones stacked toward heaven.
But every tower crumbles,
every blueprint burns.
The pilgrim is not an architect.
The pilgrim is an altar-builder.
Among the ruins,
we set not stones to climb
but stones to remember:
Here the Lord met us.
Here we beheld His face.
Here we learned to live by mercy.
Not towers, but altars.
Not conquest, but presence.
Not fixing, but beholding.