My story begins in the same way many other stories begin. I grew up in a Christian home, attended a Christian church and school, and worked for a Christian ministry. I attended Awana, led worship in high school and college, read my Bible, and prayed regularly. I was the definition of a good Christian kid. Yet my faith was in turmoil.

The more I read about Jesus and the way He interacted with others, the more I felt like a Pharisee—giving voice to my beliefs in God all day long, yet walking around the beaten and bloodied man on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. I was a legalist, trying to keep God happy through strict obedience to a set of rules I had compiled; but the more I read about Jesus, the more I realized He was far less concerned with perfectionism and far more concerned with providing “food for the hungry, drink for the thirsty, clothes for the naked, hospitality for the stranger, assistance for the sick, and friends for the prisoner” (Matt. 25).

I was internally focused. I had taken the doctrine of consumerism that Western culture teaches and applied it to my Christianity. I consumed the Bible. I consumed sermons. I consumed podcasts. I consumed music. As my soul got fatter and fatter, my heart shriveled.

One day, I was sitting at a coffee shop, talking with some friends about my internal struggle and what it means to live out Christianity in our everyday lives. Specifically, the conversation turned toward how it would look to make a difference in the world.

As we talked, I looked outside and noticed a homeless man on the street with a typical cardboard sign. He looked rough, and from the amount of scraggly hair on his face and the darkness of his skin, I knew he had spent a lot of time outside. I should help.

We continued to talk about poverty and human trafficking, and all of us agreed one person couldn’t really make a difference in such major world issues. I bet that guy is a fake and just uses the money he panhandles for liquor.

In time, our conversation became somewhat depressing. All three of us knew our lives needed to change—that we needed to stop talking about what it means to serve God and actually do it. Still, none of us knew where to start. I don’t have to give him money; I could give him food.

Soon it was time to go. Our coffee cups were empty, our conversation was coming to a close, and all of us had places we needed to be. So we prayed, said our goodbyes, and walked out of the coffee shop to our cars. I didn’t think about the guy on the street until a few minutes later when I was over halfway home. I will give him some food next time.

Although not in the same way, that story has occurred numerous times in my life. That was the day I realized I’m a coffee shop Christian. I have spent hours in coffee shops with Christian brothers and sisters, talking about what it means to make a difference in the world, yet neglecting the homeless person on the street. I have driven out of grocery store parking lots with a car full of loaded grocery bags, and passed the girl on the corner without a second glance. I have ignored the “hungry, thirsty, naked, foreign, sick, and in prison.” I am the Pharisee.

Like all good stories, there is a climax to my story—the moment when I have to choose between two completely different alternatives. I can continue as the Pharisee and live a life of self-righteousness, continuing to feel the tension between what I live and what I read. Or I can stop on the side of the road between Jerusalem and Jericho, pick up the bloodied man, and help him into my car.

All of us face that choice. We can be the people who sit in coffee shops and talk with our friends about what it means to make a difference in the world, or we can be the people who buy a sandwich for the homeless guy on the street. We can be the people who talk about the big problems of poverty and human trafficking, or we can be the people who sponsor children and donate our money and time to pull people out of slavery.

I’m tired of treating Christianity as I do every other product on the market: consuming it for my own happiness and self-actualization. I’m ready to make a difference in the world. I’m ready to abandon my faith of selfishness and live a life that mirrors the dedication and passion of my Savior—passion that leads Him to “lay down His life for His sheep.”

I’m not the only one. The next generation of Christians is looking for someone to lead them into a faith of action and not just head knowledge. During the past few years—through time spent with teenagers, in reading books such as Gabe Lyons’ Next Christians, and in watching conferences such as The Justice Conference blow up in attendance—it’s become clear to me the next generation cares a lot about making a tangible difference in the world. It also has become clear the next generation needs a little help knowing where to start.

I know I did. In response to being a coffee shop Christian, I came up with an experiment called Ten Days Without. I was so frustrated with being a consumer of Christianity. I knew I needed to go without in a culture of with. The goal was to move past good intentions and make a difference in the world.

For 10 days at a time, I gave up shoes, furniture, the use of my legs, media, speech, human touch, and a few other things—all in response to a cause that was important to me. The goal not only was to force myself into a life-changing experience, but also to make a difference in the world—and it worked! Not only did each experiment teach me valuable lessons about God and the world, but I also was able to raise money to make a difference in the world. Then other people got involved.

Although Ten Days Without started as a personal experiment, it quickly became an easy and replicable model for others to use. A youth pastor in Des Moines, Iowa, gave his students the chance to choose three of five different experiments to complete, and the group raised money for local charities in which the church believes. You could do the same thing—use this idea to mobilize your group to make a difference in the world.

The next generation needs and wants to be challenged with the questions: Will you be a consumer of Christianity, or will you be an active participant in God’s story for the world? However, they need more than a challenge; the next generation needs a model. For me, that model was Ten Days Without, and I think it has the potential to help your group move from good intentions to making a tangible difference in the world.

Daniel Day is a graduate of Appalachian State University and the Focus Leadership Institute. He is the former director of content and marketing for Axis, an organization that challenges students and families to move from apathy to compassionate social action. Daniel is married to his high school sweetheart, Rebecca, and they live in Colorado Springs, Colo., with their three children, Noah, Finley and Ava. Find him online at DanielRyanDay.com.