I sometimes wonder whether we’ve misunderstood what spiritual maturity really looks like.
If we’re honest, many of us instinctively measure maturity by knowledge. We admire those who know Scripture well, understand theology, and can answer difficult questions.
Knowledge is a gift, and we should keep growing in it. But we can easily mistake it for maturity.
Paul offers a needed correction:
“Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.” (1 Corinthians 8:1)
Knowledge is not the destination. It is meant to lead us into love.
I often quote Jesus’ words:
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind… and love your neighbour as yourself.” (Matthew 22:37–39)
Sometimes I wonder whether people think, There he goes again.
Then I remember something.
Jesus kept coming back to these words too.
When He was asked what mattered most, He didn’t offer something new or more complex. Instead, He said:
“All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” (Matthew 22:40)
Everything hangs on this.
Not some things.
Everything.
Our worship.
Our discipleship.
Our marriages.
Our parenting.
Our leadership.
Our churches.
Our mission.
Our theology.
Our obedience.
Everything hangs on loving God wholeheartedly and loving our neighbour sacrificially.
Perhaps the reason we need to hear these words again and again is because we are so prone to forget them.
That is why Jesus gave us Communion.
“Do this in remembrance of me.” (Luke 22:19)
Communion reminds us that we drift. We slowly begin believing that life depends on us, that we must control outcomes, protect ourselves, prove ourselves and somehow carry the weight of the world on our own shoulders.
So Jesus continually brings us back.
Back to the cross.
Back to grace.
Back to His sacrificial love.
Back to the reality that we are not our own.
“You were bought at a price.” (1 Corinthians 6:19–20)
The Christian life is one long journey of remembering what we are so quick to forget.
After His resurrection, Jesus’ conversation with Peter reveals what truly matters.
Jesus doesn’t ask Peter how much theology he has mastered.
He doesn’t ask how many sermons he has preached or how many Scriptures he has memorised.
Instead, three times He asks one simple question:
“Do you love me?” (John 21)
And every time Peter answers, Jesus responds,
“Feed my sheep.”
Love for Christ was never meant to remain a private emotion.
It always overflows into loving and serving others.
Perhaps that is why Jesus said,
“By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” (John 13:35)
Not by the depth of your arguments.
Not by how much you know.
But by your love.
James echoes the same truth:
“Do not merely listen to the word… Do what it says.” (James 1:22)
One of the greatest dangers facing the Church is not that we don’t know enough.
It is that we mistake agreement for obedience.
We discuss love more than we practise it.
We admire humility more than we choose it.
We celebrate the teachings of Jesus while quietly resisting His way of life.
Faith was never meant to remain conceptual.
It was always meant to become incarnational.
The truth must become flesh in us, just as it did in Christ.
Perhaps maturity is found in the narrowing of the gap between what we believe and how we live.
Sometimes we speak about “going deeper” as though maturity is measured by how much we know.
The New Testament describes it differently.
Paul says God’s purpose is that we be “conformed to the image of His Son.” (Romans 8:29)
Again, he writes that Christ gave leaders to the Church “until we all reach unity in the faith and in the knowledge of the Son of God and become mature, attaining to the whole measure of the fullness of Christ.” (Ephesians 4:13)
Notice where Paul finishes.
Not with knowledge.
With Christlikeness.
The goal has never simply been to know more about Jesus.
It has always been to become more like Him.
Perhaps one of the clearest marks of maturity is not greater certainty about every issue, but greater surrender.
Much of our stress comes from trying to control what was never ours to carry.
Our future.
Other people.
Our security.
Our reputation.
Jesus offers another way:
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest… Take my yoke upon you and learn from me… For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28–30)
To call Jesus “Lord” is to stop living as though we are.
It is to trust His wisdom above our own.
His timing above our own.
His purposes above our own.
There is extraordinary freedom in no longer needing to carry everything ourselves.
He already is Lord.
Perhaps that is why His burden is light.
Not because life becomes easier.
But because we no longer carry it alone.
Paul’s prayer for the church in Ephesus captures this beautifully:
”…that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power… to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.” (Ephesians 3:17–19)
There is a love that surpasses knowledge.
What a remarkable statement.
Perhaps that is where true maturity begins.
Not in knowing more about Christ.
But in becoming more like Him.
The Christian life is remarkably simple, but never shallow.
We spend a lifetime learning to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength, and to love our neighbour as ourselves.
We never move beyond these commands.
We simply spend the rest of our lives growing into them.
Because, as Jesus said,
Everything hangs on this.
