Opening
Most of us can remember a classroom that smelled faintly of crayons and glue, a felt board with Bible characters stuck to it, and stories that ended neatly with a moral tied in a bow. David beat Goliath. Jonah learned his lesson. Jesus loves me, this I know.
Those stories mattered. They gave us language, images, and a first sense that God was near. But for many people, that is where spiritual formation quietly stopped.
Years passed. Bodies aged. Grief arrived. Love complicated itself. The world grew louder and more confusing. And yet the faith we were handed was never asked to grow up alongside us.
I hear it all the time now, sometimes whispered, sometimes said with a shrug. I never really learned anything past Sunday school. Or worse, I was taught answers that no longer fit the questions my life is asking. Black and white answers amidst a sea of grey.
Here is the hard truth, offered gently. A child’s faith cannot carry an adult’s sorrow. A sixth-grade theology cannot withstand moral complexity, political cruelty, or the ache of unanswered prayer.
Now, I can hear what you’re thinking, “But Father, what about Matthew 18:3…”
When Jesus says, “Unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:3), he is not asking us to remain spiritually immature. He is calling us to recover a child’s posture, not a child’s understanding. Children trust. They receive. They are unafraid to depend on love they did not earn. What Jesus praises is not naïveté, but openness, not ignorance, but humility. Spiritual maturity does not mean growing cynical or self-sufficient. It means pairing a childlike heart with an adult’s capacity for discernment, compassion, and courage. Faith was never meant to stay simple, but it was always meant to stay tender.
That balance is not always easy to strike. Holding a childlike heart while developing an adult faith takes practice, and often a bit of unlearning. In real life, it looks like trusting God deeply without turning your brain off. It looks like praying with openness while refusing simplistic answers that minimize real suffering. It means remaining teachable without being gullible, humble without being passive, faithful without being frozen in time.
In practice, a childlike faith says, “God, I trust You,” while a mature faith also asks, “What is the loving thing to do here?” Childlikeness keeps us open to wonder and mercy. Maturity gives us the tools to discern truth from manipulation, devotion from performance, and obedience from fear.
This is why lifelong spiritual growth matters. Without it, we are often forced to choose between innocence and wisdom, when Christ calls us to hold both together. The Gospel does not ask us to abandon our questions or our intellect. It asks us to bring them into relationship with love. When we do, faith does not harden. It deepens. It becomes resilient enough to carry joy, grief, doubt, and hope all at once.
If faith is going to mean anything beyond nostalgia or habit, it has to be allowed to mature. Otherwise it calcifies, and when pressure comes, it shatters.
Reflection
Jesus never treated discipleship as a one-time lesson. He called people into a way of life. Follow me, he said, not memorize a story and move on. The Gospels show him returning to the same truths again and again, each time deeper, sharper, and more demanding, especially as he moves toward his Passion, when life itself becomes less predictable and the cost of love is no longer theoretical.
St. Paul echoes this when he writes, “When I was a child, I spoke like a child… when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways” (1 Corinthians 13:11). That is not a dismissal of early faith. It is an invitation to let love mature.
The tragedy is that many Christians were taught doctrines before they were taught how to wrestle with big ideas. They were given conclusions without the tools of discernment. When life inevitably contradicted those conclusions, the only options seemed to be denial or abandonment, not because faith had failed, but because the tools they had been given were never sufficient for the work faith was meant to do. It is like trying to build a house with nothing but a basic screwdriver and a hammer. You might make some progress, but the work will be exhausting, the structure fragile, and giving up will always feel like the most reasonable option.
I will be honest with you. I had to unlearn parts of my own formation. I had to admit that some things I was taught about God sounded more like fear management than good news. That was painful. It was also necessary.
Jesus promises that the Spirit will lead us into all truth, not into a single moment of understanding frozen in time (John 16:13). Growth implies movement. Movement implies change. And change, while uncomfortable, is not betrayal. It is fidelity.
A faith that cannot be questioned is not strong. It is fragile. A faith that cannot grow is not faithful. It is afraid.
Call to Faithful Action
If you are still living off a childhood version of God, I invite you to be brave. Read Scripture again with adult eyes. Pray honestly, not politely. Seek teachers who are not threatened by complexity or doubt.
Reject any gospel that tells you growth is dangerous, curiosity is sinful, or compassion has limits. Those are not the teachings of Jesus. They are the tools of control.
Spiritual maturity does not make us arrogant. It makes us humble. It softens us. It teaches us how much more there is to learn, and how deeply God meets us in the learning itself.
So here are 5 tips (Plus a Bonus Tip, because brevity is not a strength of mine) for how to grow spiritually as an adult that I think you’ll find helpful…
Five Ways to Grow Spiritually as an Adult
Spiritual growth does not happen by accident. As adults, we have to choose it with intention, the same way we choose to care for our bodies, our relationships, and our work. Here are five practices that actually help faith mature rather than stagnate.
1. Make room for adult questions.
If your faith only works when questions are suppressed, it is already in trouble. Mature spirituality welcomes debate. Scripture is full of it. Jacob wrestles God. Job demands answers. The Psalms shout, argue, and weep. Give yourself permission to ask harder questions than you were ever allowed to ask as a child.
2. Read Scripture slowly, not selectively.
Many people were taught isolated verses, stripped of context and complexity. Try reading entire passages, even entire books, and notice what emerges when you stop cherry-picking. Let Scripture challenge you, comfort you, and occasionally unsettle you. That discomfort is often where growth begins. Scripture was never intended to be read like a fortune cookie.
3. Pray honestly, not performatively.
Adult prayer is not about saying the right words. It is about telling the truth. God does not need polished language. God desires an open heart. Pray when you are angry. Pray when you are numb. Pray when you have nothing to say. Silence, too, is a form of prayer.
4. Learn alongside others, not in isolation.
Faith grows best in conversation. Seek spaces where curiosity is welcomed and where love, not fear, is the guiding principle. One reason I write here at Message from the Margins is to create a place where adult faith can breathe, ask, reflect, and deepen without shame. Following along, engaging the reflections, and joining the conversation is itself a spiritual practice. Participate in the comments, send me DMs, I am always happy to encourage you along in your thinking and to reflect with you.
5. Let your faith change how you live.
Spiritual growth is not measured by how much you know, but by how you love. If prayer and study do not make us more compassionate, more just, and more attentive to the suffering of others, something has gone wrong. Mature faith always bends outward toward mercy.
Bonus: Read great spiritual works.
The Church has been thinking, praying, and grappling with theology for two thousand years. We do ourselves a disservice when we ignore that work. Reading great spiritual writers expands our imagination and reminds us that we are not alone in our questions. You do not need to agree with everything you read. You need to be challenged, stretched, and occasionally unsettled. That, too, is part of growth.
A Short Reading List for Adult Spiritual Growth
These are not children’s books for the soul. They are companions for people who have lived a little, suffered some, and are still seeking God with honesty.
Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis
A clear, humane exploration of Christian belief that respects the reader’s intelligence. Lewis does not bully you into faith, he reasons with you, patiently and thoughtfully.
The Universal Christ by Richard Rohr
This book helps many people move beyond a small, transactional view of Jesus toward a deeper, more expansive understanding of Christ present in all creation.
The Way of a Pilgrim – Author Unknown
A simple, profound spiritual classic about learning to pray without ceasing. Quiet, humble, and surprisingly radical in its insistence that prayer belongs to ordinary people.
Life of the Beloved by Henri Nouwen
For those who struggle with worth, identity, or feeling unseen. Nouwen writes like a pastor sitting across the table, reminding you that belovedness is not earned.
The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer
A bracing antidote to cheap grace. Bonhoeffer insists that following Jesus has real consequences, especially in unjust and dangerous times.
The Interior Castle by Teresa of Ávila
Not light reading, but deeply rewarding. Teresa maps the inner spiritual life with remarkable psychological insight and humor, reminding us that holiness and humanity are not opposites.
God Has No Religion by James Martin, SJ
A grounded, pastoral reminder that God is bigger than our categories and kinder than many religious systems allow.
You do not need to read all of these. Start with one. Read slowly. Let the words work on you. If a book unsettles you, sit with that. Growth often arrives disguised as discomfort.
Faith that grows is faith that reads, listens, and learns.
None of these practices are flashy. All of them are faithful. And together, they help move faith from something we inherited to something we live.
Closing Prayer
Loving and patient God,
You have walked with us from our earliest days,
when our prayers were simple and our faith was small.
You did not despise those beginnings.
You cherished them.
But you did not intend us to stay there.
You meet us now as adults,
carrying grief we never imagined,
questions we were never taught to ask,
and a world that feels heavier than before.
Give us the courage to grow.
Loosen our grip on answers that no longer give life.
Teach us how to seek truth without fear,
to love without conditions,
and to follow Jesus not as children repeating lessons,
but as disciples willing to learn again.
When doubt comes, stay close.
When faith stretches, hold us steady.
When growth feels like loss, remind us
that pruning is not abandonment,
but preparation for deeper fruit.
May our faith mature into wisdom,
our belief deepen into love,
and our questions draw us closer to You,
not farther away.
Bless all who are still learning,
still seeking,
still daring to believe that You are not finished with them.
Amen.
A Final Word, and an Invitation
If this reflection stirred something in you, I would love to hear from you.
Spiritual growth is not a solo project. It deepens when we speak, listen, and learn together. One of the quiet gifts of this space is the chance to reflect out loud, without having to have it all figured out.
So let me ask you something simple and human:
What is one question about faith you were never allowed to ask, but still carry with you?
You do not need to write an essay. A sentence is enough. Even a fragment is enough.
If you feel moved to like, comment, or restack this piece, know that those small actions matter more than you might realize. Message from the Margins is a growing, independent publication, and engagement helps this work reach people who are quietly searching for an adult faith, just like you.
If you leave a comment, I read them, and when I can, I respond. This is not content for an audience. It is a conversation, and I am grateful you are part of it.
With gratitude and peace,
Father Rich