Being Called a Christian Can Mean Being a Follower of God, But What Does It Really Mean to Be a Christian, “In Terms of Counting the Cost of Being a Christian?”

To be a Christian, in terms of counting the cost, is to understand that following Jesus is not an accessory we add to an already-centered life. It is a decisive transfer of ownership, loyalty, and direction, in which Christ becomes first, and everything else becomes secondary. 

Jesus said that when “great multitudes” were following Him, He turned and clarified what real discipleship requires: “If anyone comes to Me and does not hate his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and his own life also, he cannot be My disciple” (Luke 14:25–26). In the same breath, He repeated it in another form: “He who loves father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me… and he who loves son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me” (Matt 10:37). So, when we count the cost, we are not being told to despise our families; we are being told to settle the question of supreme love and ultimate allegiance. Jesus will not accept being second place in our hearts. 

Then He presses it further: “Whoever does not bear his cross and come after Me cannot be My disciple” (Luke 14:27). Christianity is not merely admiration of Jesus; it is following Him on a path that includes suffering, rejection, and death to self. “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me” (Matt 16:24). And Luke adds a word that makes it intensely practical: “take up his cross daily” (Luke 9:23). That means our discipleship is not only a moment of decision; it is a daily posture of surrender. 

Jesus then explains what “counting the cost” looks like using two pictures: a builder and a king. “For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not sit down first and count the cost… whether he has enough to finish it… lest… all who see it begin to mock him” (Luke 14:28–30). And again: “Or what king… does not sit down first and consider whether he is able…?” (Luke 14:31). In other words, Jesus does not want us to enter discipleship casually, emotionally, or impulsively. He wants us to think, to consider, to weigh what it will require because starting and not finishing brings shame and exposes that we never truly surrendered. 

So, what is the “cost” Jesus is naming? He states it plainly: “So likewise, whoever of you does not forsake all that he has cannot be My disciple” (Luke 14:33). This is the heart of it. The cost is not merely that we might lose things; the cost is that we must release our claim to own things. We no longer treat life as “mine.” We are not in charge. The same theme appears in the call to self-denial: “Whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it” (Matt 16:25). Mark adds, “for My sake and the gospel’s will save it” (Mark 8:35). And Jesus makes the logic unavoidable: “For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?” (Matt 16:26; Mark 8:36–37; Luke 9:25). 

Counting the cost also includes the cost of public loyalty. “Whoever is ashamed of Me and My words… of him the Son of Man also will be ashamed” (Mark 8:38; Luke 9:26). Jesus said, “Whoever confesses Me before men, him I will also confess before My Father… but whoever denies Me… him I will also deny” (Matt 10:32–33). Discipleship is not secret allegiance. It is confession, witness, and endurance even when the world pushes back. 

The Word of God, the Scriptures, does not hide what that pushback looks like. “If the world hates you, you know that it hated Me before it hated you… because you are not of the world… therefore the world hates you” (John 15:18–19). “If they persecuted Me, they will also persecute you” (John 15:20). Paul is blunt: “All who desire to live godly in Christ Jesus will suffer persecution” (2 Tim 3:12). The early church taught new believers, “We must through many tribulations enter the kingdom of God” (Acts 14:22). And Jesus told His followers ahead of time: “In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). 

Sometimes that cost lands inside our own homes. Jesus warned, “A man’s enemies will be those of his own household” (Matt 10:36), and again, “brother will deliver up brother to death… and you will be hated by all for My name’s sake” (Matt 10:21–22). That is why Luke 9 shows Jesus refusing, “I’ll follow You, but first…” “No one, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:62). Counting the cost means we stop negotiating with Christ. 

But it also means we count honestly what we gain. Peter once said, “See, we have left all and followed You” (Matt 19:27; Luke 18:28; Mark 10:28). Jesus did not rebuke that; He confirmed it. “Everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or lands, for My name’s sake, shall receive a hundredfold, and inherit eternal life” (Matt 19:29). Luke says that those who leave things “for the sake of the kingdom of God… shall receive many times more in this present time, and in the age to come eternal life” (Luke 18:29–30). Mark adds the line we need to remember that “hundredfold” comes “with persecutions” (Mark 10:30). So, the gain is real, but it is not a promise of ease. It is the promise of Christ’s provision, Christ’s people, and eternal life without pretending the road is comfortable. 

We also see in Paul’s life what counting the cost looks like in the soul. “What things were gain to me, these I have counted loss for Christ… and count them as rubbish, that I may gain Christ” (Phil 3:7–8). That is not loss for loss’s sake; it is loss because Christ is worth more than what we surrender. Paul’s aim becomes knowing Christ, “the fellowship of His sufferings,” and being “conformed to His death” (Phil 3:10–11). And that’s why he can speak as a man who understands the price: “none of these things move me; nor do I count my life dear to myself, so that I may finish my race with joy” (Acts 20:24). 

This is where the New Testament helps us interpret the cost correctly: Christians are not simply people who endure hardship; we endure it as those who belong to Another. “He died for all, that those who live should live no longer for themselves, but for Him who died for them and rose again” (2 Cor 5:15). “I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me” (Gal 2:20). And we present our whole lives to God: “a living sacrifice” (Rom 12:1–2). That is why discipleship feels costly because it truly is a death to self-rule. 

And yet, the Scriptures also teach us how to walk through that cost without collapsing. We are told to rejoice in trials and see them as purposeful. “Do not think it strange concerning the fiery trial… but rejoice to the extent that you partake of Christ’s sufferings” (1 Pet 4:12–13). “If anyone suffers as a Christian, let him not be ashamed, but let him glorify God in this matter” (1 Pet 4:16). “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake… rejoice and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven” (Matt 5:10–12). Trials test and refine faith “to praise, honor, and glory” (1 Pet 1:6–7). They produce endurance and maturity (James 1:2–4). And they fix our eyes on eternity: “our light affliction… is working for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory… the things which are seen are temporary” (2 Cor 4:16–18).

 

So, when we ask, “What Does It Mean to Be a Christian in Terms of Counting the Cost?” the Scriptures answer like this:

 

It means we deny ourselves, take up the cross daily, and follow Him without turning back (Luke 9:23; Luke 9:62). It means Jesus is worth more than our closest relationships, our safest comforts, our private ambitions, and even our own life (Luke 14:26; Matt 10:37–39). It means we forsake all that we have as owners so that we can belong wholly to Him as disciples (Luke 14:33). It means we refuse to trade our soul for the whole world (Matt 16:26). It means we confess Christ without shame and endure hatred, persecution, and tribulation as part of the narrow way (Matt 10:32–33; John 15:18–20; Matt 7:13–14). It means we suffer with Him and follow His steps, because “to this we were called” (Rom 8:17; 1 Pet 2:21). It means we endure like soldiers and runners who live for a coming reward (2 Tim 2:3–4; 1 Cor 9:24–27). It means we do not love our lives “to the death,” because Christ is more valuable than self-preservation (Rev 12:11). And the hope that steadies us when the cost feels heavy is also in our Scriptures: nothing “tribulation, or distress, or persecution… or sword” can separate us “from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom 8:35–39). We endure because He is worth it, because He has overcome the world (John 16:33), and because those who are “faithful until death” receive “the crown of life” (Rev 2:10). 

What Is the Most Interesting Fact I Know About the Life of Jesus of Nazareth?

What stands out to me most about the life of Jesus of Nazareth is not simply what He taught, but how His love is revealed through His sovereign, providential hand guiding our lives toward a redemptive end. When I read Scripture, I see that His love is not abstract sentiment; it is purposeful, patient, and active, directing even suffering and injustice toward a result that honors God and brings life to others. Jesus’ own life shows this clearly. He did not avoid suffering; He walked through it with obedience and trust in the Father. In doing so, He revealed the heart of God, a love that forgives, redeems, and transforms what seems tragic into something eternally meaningful. When He prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do” (Luke 23:34), He was not excusing evil; He was demonstrating that divine mercy can coexist with human injustice and overcome it.

One of the earliest biblical pictures of this providential love is found in the life of Joseph. What his brothers intended for evil, God intended for good, “to save many people alive” (Genesis 50:20). Joseph’s suffering was not wasted. It became the means by which God preserved His covenant people. When I look at Joseph’s story through the lens of Christ, I see the same redemptive pattern: betrayal, suffering, unjust suffering, and then salvation flowing outward to others. That same trajectory appears in the New Testament in the account of Stephen, the first martyr of the church (Acts 7). As stones struck his body, Stephen echoed the mercy of Christ: “Lord, do not charge them with this sin” (Acts 7:60). Yet even in that moment of violence, God was at work. Those who stoned Stephen laid their garments at the feet of a young man named Saul, the very man who would later become the Apostle Paul, through whom God would spread the gospel across the Roman world and inspire a significant portion of the New Testament. What looked like defeat was part of a sovereign design. Stephen’s faithfulness became a witness that echoed far beyond his death.

When I step back and look at these lives, Joseph, Stephen, Paul, I see a pattern: God weaves suffering, obedience, and mercy together to accomplish purposes far beyond what any one person can see in the moment. That pattern ultimately finds its fulfillment in Christ Himself, who is “the image of the invisible God” (Colossians 1:15) and the one in whom the Father is fully revealed (John 14:9–11). But what makes this truth most compelling to me is not only what I see in Scripture; it is what I recognize in my own life. There were seasons when darkness seemed overwhelming, and I believed life was not worth living another day. Yet looking back, I can see that I was not abandoned. God carried me when I could not walk, preserved me when I could not see a future, and prepared me through hardship for the person I am and the work I now do. What once felt like chaos now appears as careful preparation.

Because of that, when I am asked what is most remarkable about the life of Jesus, my answer is deeply personal: His love, grace, and mercy did not remain distant truths. They pursued me. His sovereign hand guided my life through pain, confusion, and brokenness toward a purpose that I might honor Him with my life. I do not believe I would have come to Him any other way than the way He brought me. And that realization fills me with humility and gratitude. The same Lord who guided Joseph, sustained Stephen, transformed Saul into Paul, and revealed the Father through His own suffering has patiently guided me. That, to me, is astonishing. The life of Jesus reveals a love that does not merely comfort us; it redeems us, reshapes us, and leads us toward a life that reflects His glory, even through suffering, even through loss, and ultimately, through grace. 

What is the true purpose of life? Is life devoid of any meaning?

What is the true purpose of life? Is life devoid of any meaning? If life is devoid of meaning, what then do the words, meaning, purpose, and significance apply to the desire to know where we come from, why we are here, and where we go when we die, and if they do, what is the implication of the statement spoken by Jesus of Nazareth mean, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me?” What does Jesus mean by this statement, and who is the Father? 

Speaking honestly to philosophical atheists, I have to start where the questions actually live: Is there such a thing as true purpose? Is life objectively meaningful—or do we just assign meaning for psychological survival? And if life is ultimately purposeless, then the words meaning, purpose, and significance become nothing more than temporary labels we paste onto existence to help us cope with the silence of the universe. From a biblical worldview, I don’t believe life is devoid of meaning, but I also don’t believe we can manufacture meaning that endures. Meaning is not something we invent; it’s something we receive. It is anchored in the One who made us, the One in whom we exist, and the One to whom we will give account. That is why the Scriptures are willing to say, without embarrassment, that the question of purpose isn’t ultimately solved by human autonomy, but by God’s authority and God’s design.

 

Life Is Not Meaningless—Because We Are Not Accidental

 

The Bible insists that our existence is not random. Human beings are not cosmic leftovers. We were created intentionally, and that alone changes the entire philosophical landscape. We are made in God’s image (Genesis 1:26–28), and that means our lives have intrinsic dignity and moral significance that cannot be reduced to mere biology or social utility. And more personally, Scripture presses the point further: God’s involvement is not only cosmic; it’s intimate. “You formed my inward parts… Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed… the days fashioned for me” (Psalm 139:13–16). If that’s true, then life is not an accident, and neither are we. And if God is Creator, then purpose is not a human invention; it is something embedded into what we are. Scripture even says that God created people “for My glory” (Isaiah 43:7), and again, “This people I have formed for Myself; they shall declare My praise” (Isaiah 43:21). That is not merely religious poetry; it’s a claim about reality: we exist by God’s will and for God’s reasons. “You are worthy… for You created all things, and by Your will they exist and were created” (Revelation 4:11). And the implication is unavoidable: “Of Him and through Him and to Him are all things”(Romans 11:36). Purpose flows from origin. If our origin is God, our purpose cannot be merely self-referential.

 

The Existential Questions Are Real—And Scripture Admits It

 

Even in Ecclesiastes, the book that sounds like it could be written by a cynical modern philosopher, God acknowledges that human beings feel the weight of eternity pressing into our questions. Ecclesiastes repeatedly exposes the emptiness of a life lived “under the sun” as if this world is all there is. It is precisely because we are not made for a closed system that we ache for something more. That’s why Scripture can affirm ordinary joys without pretending they are ultimate. It says plainly that enjoying the fruits of our labor is a gift: “Every man should eat and drink and enjoy the good of all his labor—it is the gift of God” (Ecclesiastes 3:12–13). “Nothing is better… than that his soul should enjoy good in his labor… this also… was from the hand of God” (Ecclesiastes 2:24–25). And yet it also refuses to make pleasure the center, because pleasure cannot bear the weight of ultimate meaning. That’s why Ecclesiastes ends with a conclusion that feels like a final philosophical verdict: “Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is man’s all. For God will bring every work into judgment… whether good or evil”(Ecclesiastes 12:13–14). In other words: meaning is real, morality is real, accountability is real. That statement confronts atheism at the exact point where it often struggles: if the universe is ultimately indifferent, then moral obligation is either an illusion or a preference. But Ecclesiastes says, no, there is a Judge, and therefore life carries moral weight.

 

The Purpose Of Life, Biblically, Is Relational And Moral—Not Merely Functional

 

From the Christian worldview, true purpose is not “find what makes you happy” or “become your best self.” Purpose is a God-centered life shaped by love, obedience, and worship, lived in relationship with the Creator and expressed in how we treat people. Jesus summarized the entire moral aim of human life like this: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind… and… you shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:37–40; see also Mark 12:29–31 and Luke 10:27). That means purpose has two inseparable dimensions: 

 

• Vertical: love and devotion to God 
• Horizontal: love and responsibility toward others 

 

And that ethical vision is not vague. Micah puts it in concrete terms: “To do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8). Deuteronomy echoes the same: “What does the Lord your God require of you, but to fear the Lord… to love Him… and to keep the commandments… for your good?” (Deuteronomy 10:12–13; see also Joshua 22:5). That is purpose as moral reality, not sentimental spirituality. And here’s the part atheists often find surprising: Scripture refuses to divide life into “sacred” and “secular.” It says purpose touches everything. “Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31). And, “Whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord… for you serve the Lord Christ” (Colossians 3:23–24). Purpose is not reserved for religious moments; it’s meant to saturate ordinary days.

 

But Jesus’ Claim Changes Everything: Meaning And Destiny Are Inseparable

 

Now we come to the statement, the one that either sounds like arrogant exclusivism or like clarity that finally ends the confusion: “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me” (John 14:6). Jesus is not merely offering a philosophy of meaning. He is making a claim about ultimate reality and ultimate access. He is saying: The road to God is not an ideology. The road to God is Me. That forces the question: Who is the Father? In John’s Gospel, the Father is the living God, the Creator, known truly, not by speculation, but by revelation. Jesus defines eternal life in explicitly relational terms: “This is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent” (John 17:3). Eternal life is not only duration; it is relationship, knowledge of God through Christ. And if atheists ask, “Why should we trust Jesus’ claim?” Christianity answers by pointing to what Jesus did, not merely what He said. The gospel isn’t “try harder” or “be better.” It is that God acted in history to redeem. Jesus came to give life—real life: “I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly” (John 10:10). He is not presenting a self-help ethic; He is offering reconciliation with God.

 

Purpose Is Not Self-Authored—Because Our Hearts Are Not Reliable Gods

 

This is where Christianity critiques the modern project of self-definition. It’s not that Christians hate happiness or personal fulfillment. It’s that Scripture insists the human heart is not a trustworthy ultimate authority. That is why the Bible warns us against living as if our desires are self-validating, and not to allow our conscience to be our guide. It’s also why the Christian claim about meaning doesn’t begin with “look within,” but “look to God.” That’s why Scripture repeatedly says God’s counsel stands above human plans: “There are many plans in a man’s heart, nevertheless the Lord’s counsel, that will stand” (Proverbs 19:21). And Jesus’ call reorients the center: “Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness” (Matthew 6:33). If we reverse that, we don’t just lose moral clarity, we lose ourselves. And yet, the Bible does not teach a bleak view of life. In fact, it promises fullness of joy in God’s presence: “In Your presence is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore” (Psalm 16:11). It also says God is not merely the destination; He becomes the strength that holds us when we fail: “My flesh and my heart fail; but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever” (Psalm 73:25–26).

 

Meaning Is Also Accountability: Life Is Headed Somewhere

 

Philosophical atheism often treats death as the boundary that erases ultimate significance: we live, we die, and the universe forgets. Scripture disagrees. It says our lives are morally evaluated and ultimately answered. Ecclesiastes ends with judgment (Ecclesiastes 12:13–14). That doesn’t exist to terrorize us; it exists to tell the truth: our choices matter eternally. This is also why Jesus’ words are not just inspirational but urgent. A life aimed at “gaining the whole world” can still be a catastrophic loss: “What profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul?” (Matthew 16:24–26). That question slices through every attempt to ground meaning in achievement alone.

 

The Christian Claim: Purpose Is God’s Glory, Expressed Through Love, And Fulfilled In Christ

 

So if I were responding to atheists, I would say it this way, with as much clarity as I can:

1. We exist because God willed us into being (Revelation 4:11; Romans 11:36).
2. We were created in God’s image and for God’s glory (Genesis 1:26–28; Isaiah 43:7).
3. The moral center of life is to love God and love people (Matthew 22:37–40; Mark 12:29–31; Micah 6:8).
4. The daily shape of purpose is worshipful stewardship of ordinary life (1 Corinthians 10:31; Colossians 3:23–24; Romans 12:1–2).
5. The ultimate fulfillment of purpose is knowing God through Jesus Christ (John 17:3), because Jesus is the way to the Father (John 14:6).
6. Life is not meaningless because it is accountable—God will bring our works into judgment (Ecclesiastes 12:13–14).

 

And that’s why Christianity doesn’t treat meaning as a mood, a social construct, or a personal narrative we tell ourselves. Meaning is grounded in the reality of God and culminates in a relationship with Him. The ultimate “direction” isn’t merely ethical instruction, though ethics matter. The “direction” is Christ Himself, because purpose is not only about how to live but about who we belong to. 

I’ll end this where Scripture ends its own philosophy of life: if we want the conclusion of the matter, here it is: “Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is man’s all” (Ecclesiastes 12:13). And if we want the heart of those commandments, Jesus tells us: love God fully and love our neighbor truly (Matthew 22:37–40). And if we want the doorway into eternal life, Jesus defines it: to know the Father, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom He has sent (John 17:3).