Growth over purity (Edited by DeepSeek)

 

John the disciple of the Lord says, on one side, “If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not tell the truth” (1 John 1:6). He adds: “He who says, ‘I know him,’ but does not keep his commandments, is a liar, and the truth is not in him” (1 John 2:4). But who can keep the Lord’s commandments except the Lord Himself? Does John mean we must never sin? Yet John also warns: “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us” (1 John 1:8).

 

We will never stop sinning because we will never be Jesus. Even Heaven’s angels are not perfect—holiness belongs to God alone. Yet we are called to walk in light, not darkness. Darkness lives in us and around us: our flesh, accustomed to earthly life; the devil prowling nearby; the structures of this world. The Holy Spirit is the light within us, guiding us toward truth—but not instantly transforming us into flawless saints. Instead, He changes us step by step, in ways we can bear, molding us slowly into the image of Christ. This is spiritual growth: knowing God deeper, shedding our old selves, and reflecting His life through the fruit of the Spirit.

 

We are born again but not yet fully transformed. Our flesh hangs crucified, yet it still gasps for breath. To live in light means obeying the Spirit and growing toward Christ’s likeness. But here, many stumble. They split the world into black and white—"holy" versus "sinful"—curating lists of "abominations" to label who belongs to Jesus and who doesn’t. Like the Pharisees, they chase the appearance of faith, not its essence.

 

Some believers excel in honesty, integrity, or courage—virtues Jesus can nurture—yet struggle to love their enemies. Does their anger disqualify them? Others radiate kindness but wrestle with pride. Is a lion damned for its roar? A lion raised among cats cannot shed its nature overnight. If it stops devouring the flock, that is progress. Let us celebrate its restraint and guide it toward humility rather than mocking its wildness.

 

Some curse habitually because their mouths were once trash heaps. Even after rebirth, their words may still erupt like sewage when triggers strike—sometimes with help from so-called “godly” people. Does this mean they are faithless? Who among us is sinless? Why do we love hypocrisy? Because Pharisee blood still flows in our veins. To enter Heaven’s kingdom, we must surpass their self-righteousness.

 

Some adore money yet remain generous and kind. Must we condemn them? Not all are called to sell everything like Barnabas. For some, greed withers slowly; for others, pride is the greater battle. What matters is growth: Is the thief working? Is the liar speaking truth? Is the nationalist trading flags for the Kingdom?

 

The measure of faith is growth, not purity. A Pharisee may stone a prostitute while God sees His daughter in her tears. She knows her sin; he cloaks his in ritual. The world’s trash—music, drink, politics—may entice us for a season, but as we mature, these childish things lose their shine. A butterfly once crawled in dirt, but with wings, it seeks flowers. You don’t quit sin to please others; you quit because it no longer fits who you’re becoming.

 

Yet growth is uneven. Some shed vices quickly; others take decades. Paul’s converts clung to Moses’ Law while learning grace. Even now, believers idolize ideologies—communism, nationalism—bending Jesus into their image. The question is: Are these chains loosening? Is Jesus rising above their allegiances?

 

The church’s core must embody Heaven’s purity—leaders like Paul, unshackled from earthly baggage. But the periphery? Let us plant gardens where the proud learn humility, the rich share, and Pharisees kneel. We are all works in progress. No one is pure—only God.

 

So judge not by today’s failures, but by tomorrow’s growth. A domesticated lion can’t become a housecat overnight, but it can stop eating the sheep. Celebrate the stopped feast. Then walk with it toward the light.