Contaminated by Compromise

The Christian life isn't a sprint—it's a marathon. And like any long-distance race, the challenge isn't just starting strong; it's finishing well.

Think about the last time you watched someone take off too fast in a race. They burst from the starting line with explosive energy, leaving everyone else in the dust. But halfway through, something changes. The pace becomes unsustainable. The legs grow heavy. The breath becomes labored. What started as confidence transforms into struggle.

This is precisely what happened to the believers in Galatia. They started their faith journey with incredible momentum, running the race with passion and conviction. But somewhere along the way, something shifted. As Galatians 5:7 asks, "You were running well. Who prevented you from being persuaded regarding the truth?"

That word "were" changes everything. It signals that what once was true is no longer the case. They had stopped running well.

The Marathon Mindset

Most of us aren't like the thief on the cross—someone who encountered Christ at the very end and immediately entered paradise. For most believers, faith is a long journey of growth, maturity, and transformation. We don't become spiritually mature overnight. Just as a newborn baby can't immediately walk, talk, or digest solid food, new believers need time to develop.

This is the process of sanctification—becoming more like Christ over time. It's a marathon that requires pacing, endurance, and awareness of the obstacles that will inevitably appear along the way.

The military has a saying: you run everywhere you go, then you wait in line once you get there. Life in faith can feel similar sometimes. There are seasons of intense activity followed by periods of waiting. There are moments when we feel strong and seasons when we're exhausted. The key is to keep moving forward, adjusting our pace as needed, but never stopping entirely.

As we age in our faith, something beautiful should happen: we should become more evangelistic, not less. The closer we get to the finish line, the more urgent the gospel message becomes. We should be sharing the hope we have with increasing passion because we understand what's at stake.

When Truth Becomes Negotiable

Here's where things get dangerous: when we start treating the gospel as something to acknowledge rather than something to obey.

God's Word isn't meant to be a nice collection of stories we occasionally reference. It's not a self-help book we pick up when we're feeling down. It's a living, breathing guide for how we're supposed to live every single day.

The Judaizers who infiltrated the Galatian church understood this principle and exploited it. They came with smooth talk and persuasive arguments, adding requirements to the simple gospel of grace. They said faith in Christ wasn't enough—you also needed to follow Jewish customs and undergo circumcision. They dressed up their false teaching in religious language that sounded spiritual and compelling.

This is how compromise always works. The enemy doesn't show up announcing himself as the devil with a pitchfork. He comes disguised, making sin look attractive, reasonable, even righteous. He starts with small compromises that seem harmless.

Consider what happens when you don't finish a course of antibiotics. You feel better after a few days, so you stop taking the medication. But the infection isn't fully gone—it's just dormant. When it returns, it comes back stronger and more resistant than before. If you had simply finished what the doctor prescribed, you would have been completely healed.

We do this with our faith all the time. We cry out to God in desperation when life is falling apart. We draw close to Him, read His Word daily, pray constantly. But then things start getting better. Life stabilizes. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, we stop taking our spiritual medicine. We skip church. We rush through prayer. We neglect Scripture. We compromise on small things.

Truth not obeyed doesn't heal at all.

The Leaven Principle

Galatians 5:9 offers a stark warning: "A little leaven leavens the whole batch of dough."

In biblical times, leaven was often used as a symbol for sin because of how it works. You only need a tiny amount of yeast to affect an entire batch of dough. Once it's mixed in, it spreads throughout, changing the entire composition. You can't remove it once it's been added.

This is why the Passover celebration featured unleavened bread—it represented purity, the absence of sin.

The same principle applies to compromise in the church. When we allow just a little bit of false teaching, just a small compromise on biblical truth, it doesn't stay contained. It spreads. It influences. It corrupts.

Today's church faces this challenge constantly. Society shifts its moral standards, and the pressure builds for the church to adapt. "Be relevant," the culture says. "Be inclusive. Don't be judgmental. Get with the times."

But here's the problem: God's standard doesn't change just because society's does. His truth isn't subject to popular vote or cultural trends. We don't get to make God's Word fit our preferences or our comfort levels.

This doesn't mean we can't grow in our understanding of Scripture through careful study and scholarship. But there are foundational, non-negotiable truths that remain constant. When churches begin compromising these core doctrines—whether about sexual morality, the exclusivity of Christ for salvation, the authority of Scripture, or any other biblical teaching—the corruption spreads.

What you tolerate today will dominate tomorrow.

The Scandal of the Cross

Perhaps the most dangerous compromise of all is softening the message of the cross.

Many people have no problem with Jesus as a moral teacher, a wise philosopher, or an inspiring figure. Other religions acknowledge Him as a prophet or good man. The world loves Jesus the life coach, Jesus the social justice warrior, Jesus the friend of sinners.

But mention the cross, and everything changes.

The cross is offensive. It's scandalous. It declares that humanity's best efforts are insufficient. It proclaims that our wisdom is foolishness and our works are worthless for salvation. It stands as an eternal reminder that we are helpless sinners in desperate need of a Savior.

Galatians 5:11 addresses this directly: "In that case, the offense of the cross has been abolished." When we try to make the gospel more palatable by removing the cross or adding human works to it, we destroy its power entirely.

Think about the story of Aslan in The Chronicles of Narnia. Edmund betrayed his siblings and fell under the claim of the White Witch. According to the deep magic, she had a right to his life. But Aslan offered himself as a substitute—the innocent for the guilty. The witch accepted, and Aslan was humiliated, beaten, and killed on the stone table.

But death couldn't hold him. The stone table cracked. The lion rose. Victory was secured not through power or wisdom, but through sacrifice.

This is the gospel. Satan had a legitimate claim on every one of us through sin. We handed dominion of the world to him in the Garden of Eden. But God Himself stepped in as the perfect sacrifice—the One who had done nothing wrong dying for those who had done everything wrong.

When Jesus died on the cross and declared, "It is finished," an earthquake shook Jerusalem so violently that graves broke open and the dead walked. Creation itself testified to the cosmic significance of that moment.

Hope That Cannot Be Shaken

Without the cross, Christianity collapses. Remove the atoning work of Christ, and we have no hope, no victory, no future.

But because of the cross, we grieve differently than those without hope. We face death with confidence because we know it's not the end. We endure suffering with peace because we know our Savior suffered first. We run the marathon of faith knowing that the finish line leads to glory.

The light has come into the world. Hope has arrived. Joy is available. Not because we're good enough, smart enough, or strong enough—but because Jesus was faithful enough to go to the cross for us.

So keep running. Don't let compromise slow you down. Don't let false teaching trip you up. Don't let the world's pressure make you negotiate on truth.

Finish well. The King is waiting at the finish line, ready to say, "Well done, good and faithful servant."