Every so often, I have to stop and ask myself a hard question: Am I really maturing in Christ? It is easy to assume that I am. I can point to how long I have believed, how much Scripture I know, or how many responsibilities I carry. But maturity is usually revealed in moments that are far less impressive: when someone interrupts my plans, when my efforts go unnoticed, when a difficult person needs patience, or when serving another person costs me more than I expected. Those moments reveal what is actually growing in my heart.
We often think of maturity as learning to stand on our own. There is truth in that, but it is not the whole truth. Human growth usually moves through three recognizable stages: dependence, independence, and interdependence. We have all experienced them. We know what it is to need someone to carry us, what it is to want to prove that we can stand by ourselves, and what it is to discover that God never intended us to live alone.
Every child enters the world completely dependent. A baby cannot feed, clothe, protect, or comfort itself. There is no shame in that; it is simply where life begins. The same is true for a new believer. We need people who will patiently teach us, pray with us, answer our questions, and help us find our footing in God’s Word. I am deeply thankful for the people who have done that for me. Most of us can remember someone whose faith steadied us when our own faith was still learning how to stand.
Healthy dependence, however, is meant to lead somewhere. As we mature, we begin to accept responsibility for our own growth. We learn to open the Bible for ourselves, govern our thoughts, pray without being reminded, make difficult decisions, and obey God when no one is watching. There is something good and necessary about reaching the place where we can say, “I can carry this responsibility. I can do what is right. I can stand.” That kind of independence reflects discipline, courage, and growth.
This is where I must guard my own heart. Once I have learned to carry something, I can forget what it felt like when I could not. I can become impatient with someone who is still struggling and quietly think, “I learned to do it. Why can’t they?” In that moment, I have forgotten how often I stumbled, how much patience others showed me, and how faithfully God kept working with me when my growth was painfully slow. We can become capable, productive, and knowledgeable while also becoming hard and critical. We may know how to stand alone, yet no longer remember how to kneel beside someone who has fallen.
Sooner or later, life teaches us that self-sufficiency is not the same as wholeness. God did not give any one of us every gift, every answer, or enough strength to carry every burden. We need one another. Interdependence means learning to give and receive, to strengthen others and allow them to strengthen us, and to care more about “us” than “I.” It means realizing that people are not interruptions to our lives. They are often the very people God has placed before us to love.
Yet Jesus called his disciples to something even greater. He taught that the highest expression of maturity is servanthood. That is where the question becomes deeply personal, because servanthood touches the places where our pride wants recognition, our feelings want protection, and our flesh still asks, “What will I get in return?” A servant asks a different question: “What can I give for your good, even when you cannot repay me and may never understand what it cost?”
Matthew 20 and Mark 10 record a painfully human moment when James and John sought the places of highest honor beside him in his Kingdom. It is easy to criticize them, but I understand the desire behind their request. They had left much behind and followed Jesus through uncertainty and sacrifice. They wanted their loyalty to be seen. Haven’t most of us felt some form of that? We serve, sacrifice, remain faithful, and then quietly hope someone notices.
When the other ten disciples heard what had happened, they became angry. Perhaps their anger revealed that James and John had voiced an ambition they all shared. Jesus did not shame them or leave them divided by rivalry. He gathered them together and showed them that they were still measuring greatness by the standards of the world. Then he said, “You know that those who are regarded as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:42–45).
Jesus understood their desire for their lives to matter, but he showed them what a meaningful life actually looks like. The world measures greatness by position, influence, recognition, and the number of people who answer to us. Jesus measured it by service. He had greater authority than any of them, yet he used that authority to lift people rather than place himself above them. He touched those others avoided, welcomed those others dismissed, patiently taught those who were slow to understand, and continued to love his disciples when they repeatedly missed the point. In the end, he did not merely speak about service. He gave his life.
I know how easy it is to serve when I feel appreciated. I also know how discouraging it can be when no one seems to notice. But if recognition is what keeps me serving, then recognition, not love, has become the reason I serve. Jesus served because he loved God and loved people. That is the kind of maturity he calls us toward: a heart that remains faithful even when the work is hidden, the person is difficult, and the sacrifice is never repaid.
So when I examine my own maturity in Christ, I have to ask more than, “How much have I learned?” or “What have I accomplished?” I must ask, “To whom am I a servant?” Do I serve only those I admire, or can I love those who frustrate me? Do I serve only people who agree with me or appreciate what I do? What happens in my heart when no one thanks me? How do I respond when the person I am helping remains difficult, needy, or slow to change? These questions meet us in our homes, our churches, our workplaces, and the ordinary relationships where our faith becomes real.
Jesus is our example of what it means to be truly human. He teaches us to see every person as someone created in the image of God and therefore worthy of dignity, patience, love, and service. Maturing in Christ is not simply becoming stronger, wiser, or more self-reliant. It means becoming strong enough to stoop, wise enough to put another person’s good before our own comfort, and secure enough in God’s love that we no longer need recognition for every act of faithfulness. My prayer is that we will keep growing until the heart of a servant becomes the clearest evidence that Christ is being formed in us. For Christlike maturity is not measured by how high we rise, but by how willingly we bend down to lift another.
With love in Christ,
