But how could Christianity be so stressful? Because it was tough living up to a perfect standard – perfect prayers every day, perfect amount of Bible Study every day, perfect outgoing, serving, happy attitude all day, perfect thoughts every second, perfect work ethic, perfect Dad, perfect husband, perfect example in the community, perfect sermons, perfect health, perfect everything, because wasn’t that what Christianity was about, being a perfectionist and living up to the highest standards?

But what else could it be when Scripture tells us we’re “rewarded according to our works”? Doesn’t our eternal future (hell or heaven) depend on living up to the highest standards? If we do an outstanding job of meeting all the demands put on us now, the better our reward later – isn’t that how Christianity works? I’d be a fool then, surely, not to drive myself on relentlessly, being the best I can be. But – I discovered to my dismay – it was killing me!

I was steaming full bore to an early death and making life miserable for people along the way as I deteriorated. But how do you ease up after 40 years of believing Christianity at its heart and core is living up to God’s demands as perfectly as possible – and doing whatever people expect of you, as well? Especially when people expect you to continue keeping up the pace you’ve been at, and expect the same level of service. You feel so guilty letting them down, or having to say “No.”

So I didn’t say “No.” I pushed on, meeting every demand put on me by God and people, never easing up, despite the obvious (and frightening) signs of stress on mind and body. But Christians don’t ease up, they “plough on regardless,” go beyond the call of duty, chin up, chest out, giving their lives endlessly in service to others, right?

Wrong, Galatians 2:20. “The life I live in the body,” Paul wrote, “I live by the faithfulness of the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” Christianity is about living in the love of Christ, and trusting in his faithfulness. His faithfulness in what? That he will live HIS life in me, because “I’ve been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but CHRIST lives in me.”

Every day I expect Christ to do that, then. And that’s where my expectations now rest, not on myself but on him, that he will faithfully live his life in me. Because his life is perfect.

But why? I’d only been doing “what all Christians are supposed to do.” I’d done my best to be a good example of Christian living, done all my church rituals, helped the needy, spread the gospel, and got a pretty good grasp of Scripture and Christian teaching. And while I was young and had lots of energy, I’d kept up with it all.

But the shine on that kind of Christianity began to wear off as I got older. I couldn’t keep up the pace like I used to, and when I pushed myself too hard for too long I got ill. But I couldn’t switch off what I’d been taught, so I pressed on, only to get knocked down again, and again, and each time quicker and worse. Physically, I felt hammered. Mentally, I thought I was going nuts.

But surely this shouldn’t be happening to a Christian, right? I was worn out, wings sheared off, energy spent and horribly confused. I was done. I began to wonder, therefore, if doing all my Christian responsibilities as perfectly as possible and being an upstanding, good person in every way wasn’t actually what Christianity was about.

But what on earth was it instead?

A little light began to shine in 2 Corinthians 4:7, which told me I’m a “jar of clay.” I’m not a powerful example of Christian living, I’m a pot. And the reason Christians are pots is “to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.” I’m not a Christian to show off what I can do, I’m a Christian to show off what God can do, “For we (Christians) are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body,” verse 11.

And there I had my clue as to why I was so stressed out. I was trying to be a tower of strength while God was taking the strength out of me. Why? Because all God wants me to be is a pot, a container for the life of Christ that he then shines out from me. That’s why “he made his light shine in my heart” (verse 6), “so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in (my) mortal body,” verse 10. I’m a Christian so that God, by HIS power, can reveal his Son through me. HE does it, not me, because I’m just a pot.

I’d taken my responsibilities seriously, studied my Bible ’til my eyes ached, prayed even when I didn’t have anything to say, said “yes” to any request from someone in need, listened for hours to people pouring out their problems, driven through horrendous weather to fulfill my duties, given up many pleasures and hobbies, delved deeply into controversial issues that Christians have wrestled with for centuries, tried to keep up with all the latest trends in Christianity, furiously defended my congregations from weird ideas, bought hundreds of books to make sure I was on the right track, worried through many a night about keeping up with all my obligations, and so on.

A commendable life of dedication and diligence, you say? But from where I sat, I was a mess. I became so stressed out, physically and mentally, I ended up in hospital six times thinking I was having a heart attack. The symptoms were frightening and very real, to the point I was afraid to even go for a walk outside (fearful I might not make it back). It wasn’t my heart, though, it was stress – but stress so bad that my Doctor told me I could lose everything I held dear if I let it continue much longer. I was, to be blunt, digging my own grave as fast as I could shovel.

So I had to do something, and fast, but what? Go on a strict regime of not worrying anymore? Make a New Year’s resolution to ease up on myself? Take a 3 month stress leave? Go on anti-depressants? Get psychiatric counselling? Get a hobby that might, at least, turn off the worry switch in my head for a few blissful hours? Pray more? Get out and about more, and do normal things with normal people? Stop being so conscientious and delegate more? But I am who I am – and you don’t change a leopard’s spots overnight, either, so now what?

Well, I’m not the first Christian to be “under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure.” Paul was too, 2 Corinthians 1:8. He “despaired even of life,” it got so bad. He “felt the sentence of death.” He simply couldn’t handle any more. “But it happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead,” verse 9. Is that why God lets us sink so low, then, and lets us reach the point we’ve had it? So that, at last, we realize Christianity is all his doing, and not ours?