All grown up
As he came striding towards me, I sighed, resigned to what was to come. It was time for my weekly rebuke. When he’d started attending our church, I’d initially been impressed. He certainly knew his Bible well, and his conversation was liberally sprinkled with quotes from classic Christian books. He faithfully attended our early morning prayer meeting, held as it was at an unearthly time when angels were likely still sleeping.
But as time went on, I noticed some worrying trends developing. Undeniably passionate about his faith, that passion morphed into rather unnerving intensity. Ill at ease with laughter, the furrows on his brow deepened if he encountered it: for him, any fun was frivolous. His attendance at that prayer meeting fuelled disdain for those who didn’t show up; he eagerly lamented what he viewed as their lukewarm spirituality. And now his body language was a chilling reflection of an increasingly superior attitude. He’d sit, arms folded tight through my sermon, his posture screaming I’m getting nothing out of this and this teaching isn’t sound. Those locked arms only unfolded when he scribbled notes furiously, which were then used as evidence for the prosecution when confronting me with news of what I should and shouldn’t have said. Mostly I was regaled with his demand that the teaching be deeper. To this day I flinch when I hear that deep word in church. Teaching needs to have substance, but some Christians think teaching is only deep if they don’t understand a word of it; they beatify bewilderment.
Not much more than thirty, he insisted on wearing a suit on Sunday. Armed and dangerous with his notebook, I felt a mixture of sadness and repulsion as he approached. His faith seemed to strangle him, like his severely knotted tie. And I knew that I definitely didn’t want to be like him. He was such a contrast to the newer Christians in our church, with their unspoiled simplicity and openness.
We Christians crave spiritual maturity, and rightly so. As a new believer, I found myself surrounded by beautiful, seasoned souls who had weathered countless storms. Their wisdom was winsome, their smiles warm, and I so wanted to be like them. Of course, there were a few exceptions: crusty, finger-pointers who demonstrated the truth that being long in the tooth doesn’t guarantee tenderness of heart. But they were the exception. And although faith was so new to me, I quickly discovered the biblical call to maturity, that we all grow up in Christ.
Looking back on the trek, I confess my progress in personal growth has been mixed, to say the least. I envy those disciplined saints who briskly march up the mountain of maturity with barely a break in their step. My own Christian walk has been more of a stagger. Over forty years on, I still fall asleep when I pray, occasionally wonder if there’s even anyone to pray to, and like an adolescent fighting pimples, I experience sudden outbreaks of immaturity for which there is no cream.
But I also woke up early to the uncomfortable truth that walking the Christian pathway for a good while doesn’t mean that you’ll be good company, or for that matter, a well-rounded, loving person. If in doubt, consider the Pharisees, who while obviously were not Christian, were still a pack of zealots who prayed for three hours a day and were proven by a year of probation, they were able to blether on endlessly about minutiae, and had great talent for noticing gnats and swallowing camels.
As Eugene Peterson puts it, ’The greatest errors in the spiritual life are committed by those who are adept at the spiritual life. The greatest capacity for self-deceit in prayer comes not in the early years, but in the middle and late years.’
And so I have much to learn, but this much I know. When asked what I want to be when I’m all grown up, I’d like to ignite a smile rather than a sigh when I approach. I want to be the old guy who is kind, frequently laughs out loud, and carries a bag full of chocolate treats for those lovely children in junior church. Come to think of it, I’d like to be more like those giggling little ones: childlike, but not childish, silly, but no fool, still thrilled by grace and gracious with it too.