The Burden Is Light: Liberating Your Life from the Tyranny of Performance and Success - Softcover

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Jon Tyson is a widely respected church planter and leader in New York City. Originally from Adelaide, Australia, Jon moved to the United States almost twenty years ago with a passion to seek and cultivate renewal in the Western Church. Jon has spoken at Q Conference, Catalyst, Verge Network, The New Wine Conference, and other key venues around the world. He is often sought out for his insights on how culture and faith intersect, and is known for his preaching, which is a rare combination of passion and depth. Jon lives in the Hell's Kitchen neighborhood of Manhattan with his wife and two children.

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Chapter 1: Comparison / Calling

I have struggled deeply with comparison my whole life, and I can pinpoint the moment its idolatrous shadow was cast over my heart. When I was in elementary school, I enrolled in a local track-and-field club. Much to the surprise of everyone around me, I ended up excelling as an athlete and breaking all kinds of state records. I was a fierce and dominant competitor, and I would come home to my parents with a chestful of blue first-place ribbons. I loved the feeling I got from lining up for a race and overhearing my peers say things like, “I don’t even want to race. I know Jon is going to win.” I would run around that track like a junior Olympian god, head held high, unrivaled. I didn’t struggle with comparison then because, in my mind, I had no equals.

Then one morning a new kid came and watched me race. I can still see him there, standing next to his dad and looking straight into my eyes. I overheard one of my friends say, “What is he doing here? He’s the fastest kid I have ever seen.” At that, a new kind of emotion swept over me, one I could not articulate. It was a defense-based anxiety, and I didn’t like it. I won that race, but something had awoken within me. Comparison. The next week, to my surprise, that “fastest kid ever” joined our club, and the security of my world was invaded. As we walked up to the starting line for the first race of the day, everyone paused to watch. The gun went off, and I began to pump my small arms and legs like mighty pistons. I broke away and for the briefest of moments felt comparison melt away. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something speed past me, the fastest kid ever. I spoke to my arms and legs, summoning them to new levels of performance. I gave that race all that I had, but it was not enough. For the first time in my young life, I was second. Embarrassed and ashamed, I went home in tears. Soon after that, I lost interest in athletics. Baffled, my parents tried to talk with me about what had happened. But how could an eight-year-old articulate the feeling of an ancient and primal force taking hold of his still-developing soul?

Peter and Comparison

I am thankful for the honesty of the biblical accounts and the raw and vulnerable picture they paint of Jesus’s disciples. In these records, among the grace and glory, the failure and pain, we find a man who struggled as we do: Peter, the rock of the church. Saint Peter, the apostle of comparison. From these early accounts it is apparent that Peter was concerned with his position among the Twelve. He was among the group of disciples clamoring to be the greatest. At the Passover table he was determined not to fall away like the rest and was passionate to prove that his commitment was tried and true compared with some other disciples’. But comparison is fickle. Despite Peter’s intimacy with and proximity to Jesus, his resolve melted away by the fireside when confronted by a teenage girl. Just like that, it was over. Peter denied Jesus and called down curses on himself. And there we read one of the most cutting verses in the Scriptures: “The Lord turned and looked straight at Peter. Then Peter remembered the word the Lord had spoken to him: ‘Before the rooster crows today, you will disown me three times.’ And he went outside and wept bitterly.” [1] 

Heartbroken and racked with guilt, Peter returned to fishing. He took up his net, and as if Jesus had never called him at all, Peter went back to the lake. He must have had lots to think about, sitting in the boat. Strange reports came in from some of the women who had followed Jesus, saying that his body was missing from the tomb. They said he had risen from the grave. Some even said that Jesus had explicitly mentioned Peter’s name.

Then, in what must have seemed like an apparition, Christ himself appeared on the beach. When Peter realized it was the Lord, he jumped out of the boat and swam to the shore. Many have seen this as a sign of Peter’s devotion, but I don’t read it that way at all. I believe Peter was desperate to apologize to the Lord before the rest of the disciples showed up. “Hey, Lord, about that thrice denial…” The next scene contains details that can only be described as profound. In a courtyard by a fire, Peter had denied Jesus, and by a fire on a beach, Christ restored him. This conversation is recorded in John 21, and it reveals the tragic result of insecurity and comparison in the human heart.

When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?”

“Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

He answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.”

The third time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

Peter was hurt because Jesus asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know all things; you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my sheep. Very truly I tell you, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then he said to him, “Follow me!”

Peter turned and saw that the disciple whom Jesus loved was following them. (This was the one who had leaned back against Jesus at the supper and had said, “Lord, who is going to betray you?”) When Peter saw him, he asked, “Lord, what about him?”

Jesus answered, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me.” [2]

In the middle of Peter’s gracious restoration, he was gripped by comparison with John. “But what about him?” he asked, but Jesus wouldn’t have it. In reply, Christ shot these powerful words across the bow of Peter’s insecurity: “What is that to you? You must follow me.” Even in what should be the best moments of our lives, comparison lurks in the shadows, always seeking to exert itself and secure our worth at the expense of others.

Comparison and the Soul

Comparison is the root of most of the misery we feel in life. Comparison makes it impossible to view ourselves from any sort of godly perspective. It is an absolute snare for the soul. Consider what comparison does to our view of others. First, when we compare ourselves with those we perceive to be better than we are in any given area of life, the comparison produces a sense of inferiority and insecurity. Whenever we see those people, they become reminders that we don’t have what it takes and are falling behind. We feel we must toil and strive to keep up. Yet the harder we try to do that, the more we’re caught in a cycle of despair. Comparison erodes our sense of worth and self-esteem. And it has a flip side. When we compare ourselves with people we perceive to be inferior to us, we are filled with a sense of superiority. The people around us become constant reminders of how good we are and how well we are doing, and judgment and pride creep in. Those controlled by forces of comparison have unstable and insecure souls. Alain de Botton puts it this way:

The attentions of others matter to us because we are afflicted by a congenital uncertainty as to our own...