Still Paddling, or Just Floating?

A few months ago, I was preaching through Hebrews at church, and I’ve found myself reflecting again on one of its earliest warnings: don’t drift. Not in a dramatic, “I’ve rejected everything and moved to a cave” kind of way, but in that quiet, almost unnoticed way where your heart starts to float away from Jesus while life just keeps carrying on.

Hebrews opens with one of the biggest statements in the Bible. Before it tells us what to do, it tells us who Jesus is.

God has spoken.

That is worth slowing down for. We are not left stumbling around in the dark trying to work out the meaning of life like someone building flat-pack furniture without the instructions, the right screws, or the emotional stability required. God has made Himself known. Long ago, Hebrews says, God spoke through the prophets. But now He has spoken through His Son.

In other words, if you want to know what God is like, look at Jesus.

Jesus isn’t just another religious voice in the crowd. He isn’t one spiritual option among many, like we are browsing some divine streaming service and thinking, “I’ll give this one a go for a month and see if it helps.” Hebrews says Jesus is the radiance of God’s glory, the exact representation of His being, and the One through whom the universe was made.

And then, right in the middle of all that greatness, we get this: “After he had provided purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven.”

The One who made the world came to save the world. The One who holds everything together came to deal with our guilt. Jesus didn’t come to sprinkle a bit of spiritual glitter over our lives and tell us to try harder. He came to rescue us.

That is where Hebrews starts: not with a guilt grenade, but with Jesus.

And once our eyes are lifted to Him, Hebrews gives us the warning: don’t drift.

Hebrews 2 says, “We must pay the most careful attention, therefore, to what we have heard, so that we do not drift away.”

I like canoeing on the River Dee, and I can tell you this from experience: if you are trying to paddle upstream, you do not need to make some big dramatic decision to head the wrong way. You just stop paying attention. You relax a bit, admire the scenery, fiddle with your paddle, wonder if you packed enough snacks, and before long the current has done what currents do.

You look up and think, “Hang on, wasn’t I over there a minute ago?”

Spiritually, it can work exactly like that.

Most people don’t wake up one morning and say, “Right then, today feels like a good day to slowly wander away from Jesus.” It usually happens quietly. Prayer gets pushed to the edge. The Bible becomes something we agree with rather than something we actually listen to. Church becomes routine. Worship becomes familiar. Sin becomes easier to explain away. Repentance gets slower. The heart doesn’t usually collapse in one big dramatic moment; it cools by degrees.

It’s a bit like leaving a cup of tea on the side. You don’t notice it going cold second by second, but eventually you take a sip and nearly call the police.

That’s why Hebrews tells us to pay careful attention. Not casual attention. Not “I’ll get round to it when life calms down” attention, which, let’s be honest, is basically the same as saying, “I’ll clean the garage when I become a naturally organised person.” It means awake, honest, deliberate attention.

We need to fasten ourselves to what we have heard.

Now, that doesn’t mean we save ourselves by trying harder. The gospel is not, “Grip Jesus tightly enough and maybe He’ll keep you.” Thank God for that, because some days my grip is about as impressive as a toddler holding soup.

The gospel is that Jesus has already done what we could never do. Salvation is received, not achieved. We are saved by grace, not spiritual performance. But because this salvation is so great, we mustn’t treat it like background noise.

Hebrews asks, “How shall we escape if we ignore so great a salvation?”

That is serious, but it isn’t cruel. Sometimes God’s kindness feels like comfort, and sometimes it feels like a holy handbrake. A warning can be mercy when danger is ahead.

And the danger here is neglect.

Neglect rarely looks dramatic. It can hide inside normal Christian life. You can know the songs, drink the coffee, smile at the right bits, own several Bibles, and still somehow never know where any of them are. You can be near the things of God while slowly neglecting God Himself.

I don’t say that to crush anyone. Plenty of sincere Christians are tired, stretched, disappointed, distracted, or barely holding things together with prayer, caffeine, and stubbornness. Hebrews is not kicking weary believers while they are down. It is calling us back to the only One strong enough to keep us.

So what do we do when we realise we’ve drifted?

We come back.

Not with religious theatre. Not by pretending everything is fine. Not by putting on our best “I’m very spiritual actually” face, which fools nobody except maybe ourselves. We come back honestly. We tell the truth before God.

“Lord, I’m tired.”

“Lord, I’ve become distracted.”

“Lord, I’ve been around Christian things, but I’ve not really been paying attention to You.”

That kind of honesty is often where healing begins.

Then we put ourselves where grace keeps shaping us. We return to Scripture, not as a box to tick, but as the living word that anchors us. We pray, even when our prayers feel clumsy. We stay close to God’s people, because isolated Christians drift more easily. We repent quickly, not because God is waiting to squash us, but because sin is too dangerous to cuddle.

My dad used to say, “Put yourself under the spout where the grace comes out.” It’s not exactly Shakespeare, but it has stuck with me. And he was right. Stay where grace flows. Stay near Jesus. Stay under His word. Stay with His people.

Because the main point of Hebrews isn’t just, “Drifting is dangerous.” It’s this: Jesus is worth holding on to.

He is stronger than every pressure, greater than every fear, better than every substitute, and kinder than we often dare to believe. He is not just useful when life goes wrong. He is Lord over everything and enough in everything.

So the question is not just, “Do I believe in Jesus?”

The question is, “Am I paying attention to Him?”

Is He over my habits, my fears, my decisions, my wounds, my priorities, my future? Am I fastening myself to Him, or have I quietly started letting the current choose my direction?

If you have drifted, come back.

The Saviour who made purification for sins is not running out of mercy. The King who sits at the right hand of God is not panicking, pacing, or wondering what to do next. He reigns. He saves. He keeps His people.

Don’t let the current carry you.

Look again at Jesus.