Imagine trying to breathe without oxygen. No matter how deeply you inhale, how fiercely you strive, your lungs will eventually collapse. Spiritual life operates similarly. Just as oxygen sustains the body, divine grace sustains the soul. Yet, like a person gasping for air while denying the very existence of oxygen, many exhaust themselves striving for righteousness through sheer willpower, only to find their efforts futile—and even destructive.
Once, a young Buddhist monk lived in the distant hills of an ancient land. Deeply troubled by the suffering and darkness he saw in the world and within his own heart, Ananda became convinced that true peace and enlightenment could only be achieved through complete withdrawal from worldly distractions. He believed that by isolating himself and suppressing his desires, he could conquer his inner turmoil and emerge as a perfect being, untouched by the flaws of humanity. In his mind, he believed that only through isolation could he transcend the desires that shackled him. "if I control my every action and thought, I will be free from the suffering of the world." And so, he built his new life in the cave, practicing rigorous meditation, fasting, and the strictest of disciplines. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and months to years.
The isolation, the silence, the constant battle against his own nature—all of it became more exhausting for him over years. He had become so focused on suppressing his flaws that he had forgotten the simple joy of existence. His sight, once sharp and clear, began to fade. He could no longer see the beautiful sunrise or the forest that had once surrounded his cave. But the most insidious effect was the gradual blindness that overtook his soul. Human history is littered with examples of this paradox. Ancient ascetics starved their bodies to nourish their spirits. Modern perfectionists chase flawlessness, only to collapse under anxiety. Social media influencers curate pristine lives while battling private despair. The common thread? A refusal to acknowledge our inherent need—for grace, for help, for something beyond ourselves.
Scripture warns of this folly: “All our righteous acts are like filthy rags” (Isaiah 64:6). No amount of moral effort can purify a heart bent toward selfishness. The monk’s cave is not unique; it is a mirror. How many of us build invisible caves of performance, shame, or self-reliance, hoping to earn approval—from others, from ourselves, or even from God?
In stark contrast to the crushing weight of self-righteousness, Jesus extends a liberating invitation: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” (Matthew 11:28–30). These words dismantle the myth of self-salvation. Christ does not say, “Fix yourself, then come.” He calls the weary—the ones who’ve hit their limits—to find rest in Him. His “yoke” is not another set of rules, but a relationship. Unlike the monk’s solitary struggle, Jesus offers to shoulder our burdens and transform us from within. The gospel flips the age-old script of self righteouness: holiness is not achieved through human effort but received through divine surrender. When we stop striving to become righteous and instead trust the One who is righteous, something miraculous happens. God’s Spirit begins reshaping our desires, healing our brokenness, and empowering us to live freely.
The monk sought enlightenment but lost his sight. Jesus, however, promises “eyes to see” (Matthew 13:16). When we stop clinging to our feeble efforts and cling to Him instead, we find something far greater than moral perfection: Love, Hoy and peace. Christ’s call is not to more striving, but to surrender—to trade our rags of self-righteousness for His robe of righteousness. Today, He whispers to the weary, the ashamed, the disillusioned: “Come. Breathe. Let Me carry this for you.
Consider the thief on the cross (Luke 23:39–43). He had no time for self-improvement, no résumé of good deeds. Yet in his raw honesty—“Remember me”—he received grace. Or the Samaritan woman (John 4), whose shame dissolved when Jesus saw her, loved her, and rewrote her story. These are not tales of moral triumph but of radical dependence. Admit Your Need, acknowledge your limitations. You cannot conquer sin, shame, or selfishness alone. Stop bargaining with God (“I’ll do better tomorrow”). Surrender is not defeat; it’s the doorway to freedom.“It is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God” (Ephesians 2:8–9). Let Christ’s finished work on the cross be enough. Faith thrives not in caves but in communion. Surround yourself with others who remind you of God’s love when you forget.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
—Psalm 34:18