Growth. I have, believe it or not, become somewhat wary of this word when I hear it. Why? Because it seems whenever someone’s just compromised their morals, shifted their sexual ethics, made a terrible life decision, or embraced some really bad theology, it’s inevitably labeled as “growth.” And who can speak against it, now that it’s been called “growth?” You wouldn’t want someone to not grow, would you? It’s kind of like when someone plays the trump card of “The Spirit led me to…[fill in the blank with some bad decision here]” just so you can’t advise any other way. After all, you can’t argue with the Spirit, now can you?1
But in this case…
However, some growth really is growth. Even if it doesn’t look like it. Sometimes growth looks like adopting new habits, rhythms, or practices, like rising early for daily prayer or practicing temperance and kindness. It can also mean shedding some old habits, like overeating or envy or any sort of carnal indulgences. Sometimes growth can take the form of a realignment of goals, or saving money for emergencies instead of buying more toys, or maybe taking a long break from social media. This is why, by the way, I love the ministry of the pulpit: I believe this is one of God’s greatest channels for communicating and motivating opportunities for growth to his people.
Other times, growth takes place in a less noticeable and more personal sphere — the arena of one’s convictions, beliefs, and behaviors. There’s plenty to say about that, but more to the point of this brief blog entry: whatever the growth, it seems to very often necessarily include a re-evaluation of those whom we respect and revere, and, at the same time, a restructuring of those whom we don’t exactly respect or revere — or didn’t, to be more precise.
Say what now?
What this means is fairly simple, really: When I was a younger Christian, I remember looking up to certain people, mostly pastors and teachers, for any number of reasons — either because of their forceful rhetoric, their dynamic personality, how much they agreed with what I already believed, or just because everyone else sort of did. I considered these men to be my heroes, more or less. Now, I want to be clear that these men weren’t bad men by any stretch of the imagination — most of them feared God and wanted to do right — but my reasons for venerating them were shallow and superfluous at best.
At the same time, I remember the other side of the same coin all too well: vilifying, mocking, and looking down my nose at other men and groups with whom I disagreed. The reason? Well, it was pretty simple: they were compromisers. Deceived. Heretics, even. They weren’t like me. They had exchanged the “faith once delivered to the saints” for drums in church, pants on women, coffee in the foyer, and updated translations of the Bible. At the same time, my disdain for these heretical blackguards was reinforced by the fact that many of my heroes were doing the exact same thing: calumniating and slandering folks who understood certain doctrines differently than I did or dared to follow their Spirit-led consciences.
So what happened?
Then I grew. Over time, I began to see the wisdom and solid Biblical basis for some of the decisions that some of my former religious “enemies” had made that once merited my scoffing and scorn. The people I’d spent years ridiculing and slandering weren’t that heretical after all; on the contrary, many of them were far, far more Biblically rooted and theologically sound than I or most of my heroes were. And at the same time, I began to see through the veil of bravado and volume that often characterized the presentation style of some of these men I’d looked up to prior. But not just that — I began to see that this same bloviating machismo wasn’t supplementary to their doctrinal robustness or theological richness; rather, it was substitutionary. But this recognition didn’t happen overnight. It took time.
Even more intrinsic to growth than time, though, is pain. No real, lasting growth can take place without pain — just ask any acorn that dies to become an oak tree2, any teenager who’s growing several inches in a year, or any mother experiencing the intense pain of childbirth. Or, less dramatically but just as realistically, consider the man picking up a barbell instead of a slice of pizza or the rose bush that’s being pruned. All growth requires some degree of pain, even if that pain is only the pain of discipline or discomfort. And in my case, as some of you who know me are already well aware, the pain was the crucible of deep depression and deconstruction of faith.
Please, no backstory
I won’t waste your time recounting the story of the deep darkness which eventually catalyzed my growth, but I am genuinely, fully, wholly thankful for it. Without it, I would still be, ironically, in an entirely different kind of dark. God used my pain and despair to bring me down to nothing — to show me that, like Jesus told the Laodicean church in the Book of Revelation, I was bereft of the moral high ground even while I thought I “had need of nothing.”
And it’s quite a bit of poetic justice that now I’m the one who’s had my share of being castigated and calumniated.3 I’m the one that people are “praying for,” but not in a good way, if you get my drift. I’ve now been the recipient of the same ungodly behavior that I exhibited for so much of my life and pastorate. And I’ve seen this happen to some of my dear friends, too. That’s also the pain of growth, you know. It’s not just when it happens — the pain of growth sometimes follows you long after you’ve begun growing. But ask anyone who’s taken a few licks or even had a sermon or two preached about them — it’s totally worth it.
I smell a conclusion coming on
In the end, people will probably always call any of their decisions “growth” or “part of their spiritual journey” or “God’s direction” even when it’s none of those things. But the way one can tell if it’s more than likely real growth is if it a) leads us closer to the Scriptures and historic orthopraxy and b) hurts a lot. Oh, I should also add c) lasts more than a few weeks after summer camp, but that’s neither here nor there, I suppose.
In my case, I have indeed grown — not by my own will or wisdom or wit, but by the kind, merciful, and sovereign hand of a gracious and all-wise God. I would have never chosen to grow if God had not chosen to grow me. And I am, by God’s grace, still growing. In fact, I’ve got a Missions Conference coming up, and my pastor just got done preaching a couple of great sermons to prepare our church for it. I think I’m going to grow in generosity, if the level of conviction I’ve experienced is any indication at all. And giving money to others is certainly a) a Scriptural and historic thing to do and b) hurts a lot. Sure sounds like growth, so I hope to grow in giving this year.
And who knows what else will come? Will I have to eat more crow? Will I have to take back some words or recant some podcast episodes? Will I have to come back and edit this very entry in a year or two? Will I have to go through another crucible of pain or give up Diet Coke?4 I don’t know the particulars, to be sure, but I do know it will be because I am moving closer to the Scriptures and I know it will hurt. Probably my pride most of all.
Growth is good, and it’s God’s plan for making us more like him, pain and all. Crow and all. Change and all. All for God’s glory and our good.
