This Is Not That: Spiritual Growth
A Dangerous Myth
If you hang around church long enough, you’ll hear the same line from the late Dallas Willard: “Grace is opposed to earning, not effort.”
It sounds balanced, holy even—like wisdom for the modern soul. But it’s actually one of the most dangerous half-truths in the Christian world.
Because it keeps effort in the driver’s seat and turns grace into the fuel for self-improvement. The result? You start to think God began the story, but you’re the one finishing it.
The Apostle Paul couldn’t have disagreed more.
In Galatians 5:6 he writes, “Neither circumcision nor uncircumcision counts for anything; the only thing that counts is faith working through love.”
In other words, the badges we wear and the spiritual disciplines we ascribe to—none of them move the needle. Because the life of faith doesn’t happen with our effort; it happens through God’s affection.
The Galatians had fallen for the same trap we have. They began in grace but tried to finish by effort. So Paul asks, “After beginning with the Spirit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort?” (Gal 3:3)
It’s as if he’s saying:
“You didn’t birth this life—why are you trying to raise it alone?”
Trying to grow by effort is like taking down your sail and rowing in the wind. The same breeze that carried you this far is still blowing—you just stopped trusting it. In contrast, the Spirit isn’t asking for your strength, only your surrender to the wind that’s already moving.
When Growth Means: Growth
Growth, in the kingdom, isn’t a ladder to climb—it’s a life to receive. It doesn’t come by managing outcomes but by trusting the One who holds them.
“So we eagerly wait for the hope of righteousness” (Gal 5:5). Meaning, we don’t produce it; we wait for it. And not the kind of waiting that looks like twiddling your thumbs—but the kind that aches for love’s arrival.
I’ll never forget waiting at Fort Stewart when my kid brother’s unit came home from Iraq.
The base was packed—families shoulder to shoulder under a field of lights and flags. Across from me, a young mom kept pacing the floor, baby in her arms.
Every announcement made her heart jump. Every pause in the crowd made her eyes dart toward the buses we longed to see. She wasn’t earning her husband’s return—she was longing for it.
That’s what Paul means by “eagerly waiting.” That’s what life in the Spirit looks like—trust pacing the floor, not striving to perform.
Paul said the same thing to the Romans: “If we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently” (Rom 8:25).
That’s how true spiritual growth happens. Because the Spirit grows what effort can’t—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. (Gal 5:22–23)
Those aren’t achievements to display; they’re fruit that appear when striving finally stops.
A tree doesn’t will itself to grow—it abides through trust. Jesus said it simply: “Abide in me, and you will bear much fruit.” (John 15:5)
Ever watch a seed in the dirt? It looks like nothing’s happening for weeks. But under the surface, roots are breaking through the shell, reaching for water.
In the same way, growth doesn’t always look like progress—it often looks like burial. Which is why grace does its best work where no one’s clapping.
Some Truths To Consider
Paul echoed this journey of trust in Philippians: “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion.” (Phil 1:6)
That’s not a challenge—it’s a comfort. The same Spirit who started this life will see it through. Our job is not to “grow” into something more, but to stay awake to what’s already growing.
And again to the Romans: “If it is by grace, it is no longer on the basis of works; otherwise grace would no longer be grace.” (Rom 11:6)
That’s not “grace plus effort.” That’s grace alone—or nothing at all.
Even Philippians 2:12–13, the verse most often used to justify “doing your part,” actually says the opposite: “Work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act according to His good purpose.”
The phrase “work out your salvation with fear and trembling” hinges on the Greek word katergazesthe—which doesn’t mean to earn or achieve, but to bring to full expression or to live out what’s already true.
The next verse seals it: “for God is the one working (energeō) in you both to will and to act according to His good pleasure.” The “fear and trembling” isn’t dread. It’s “awe” at realizing He’s the one animating your every breath.
Even your will—your desire to follow God—is shown as a gift in this passage! Our participation is simply letting Him be Himself in us.
In Colossians, Paul grounds it all: “As you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him” (Col 2:6).
How did we receive Him? By faith. So how do we walk? The same way. Which is why Paul continues, “You have been filled in Him” (Col 2:10).
Already filled. Not waiting to be filled after another quiet time or mission trip.
Already whole. Already held.
Trying to produce light without staying plugged in is like a lamp bragging about how hard it glows. It doesn’t need to try; it just needs to stay connected to the source. We don’t power the light—we participate in it.
Paul hammers it home to the Corinthians: “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth” (1 Cor 3:6).
People plant and water, but only God grows. Because if true growth were up to us, it would be artificial—plastic fruit taped to a tree.
That’s why Jesus never described discipleship as construction but cultivation.
Seeds. Vines. Branches. Fields.
“First the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head” (Mark 4:28). Turns out, growth is organic, not organized. Hidden before it’s seen. Grace before it’s grasped.
Paul said it another way: “We all, with unveiled faces, are being transformed into His image from one degree of glory to another—this comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit” (2 Cor 3:18).
Transformation isn’t achieved—it’s received. The same Spirit who opened your eyes to Jesus keeps shaping you in into the likeness you already share.
Even Peter, the “get-things-done” disciple, after a season of rethinking things, ends his second letter with: “Grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” (2 Peter 3:18).
Not “grow out of grace.” Not “prove grace works.” Grow in it. Meaning, the more we trust His goodness, the freer we become.
The Full Stop
I listed all of these passages to say: when Paul states: “Circumcision counts for nothing” in Galatians 5:6. he isn’t scorning spiritual practices—he’s freeing us from using them as a means for progress.
Because let’s face it, a species in love with control always finds a way to turn prayer, fasting, serving, and generosity into another form of self-justification.
But you can’t grow into what you already are—you can only wake up to it.
which is why Philippians 3:12 says: “Not that I have already obtained all this, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me.”
Paul’s pressing on isn’t ambition—it’s awakening. He’s grasping the One who’s already grasped him.
What does that look like? “We who have believed enter that rest” (Heb 4:3).
Rest, not work, is the evidence of faith. For reference, Jesus said, “Come to me, and I will give you rest” (Matt 11:28). That’s the paradox of grace: maturity looks less like trying harder and more like learning to trust what is true.
So when someone says, “Grace is opposed to earning, not effort,” you can smile and say, “Grace is opposed to both.”
Because in the kingdom, there’s nothing left to earn and no effort that can improve what’s already perfect.
Faith isn’t our contribution to grace—it’s our consent to it.
Which means spiritual growth isn’t us getting better for God. It’s God getting His life back in us.
And that life looks like a life of trust—not because we’re trying to be holy,
but because we finally see the One who already is for us.
What Does That Look Like?
It looks like a life of trust—not because we’re trying to be holy, but because we finally see the One who already is for us.
And in a culture obsessed with “do more, be better,” that’s no small thing. Which is where the Adam Alarm comes in. Let me explain.
To a crowd crushed under the weight of religion, Paul pulled back the curtain on reality in one sentence:
“For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man. For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive.”
—1 Corinthians 15:22
Notice: in both instances of all—you’re there. Everyone is. You can’t make the first all about every human’s struggle with sin and then shrink the second all to mean “only some.” The reach of grace is as wide as the reach of death.
Missing this, we’ve filled the world with preachers and programs promising paths to a perfection they think is still up for grabs. Some call it hustle; others call it holiness. Either way, it’s just the endless project of self—polished up to look spiritual.
So, when you hear someone speak, read a book, gather with friends, or scroll through your feed, ask yourself:
Does this draw me into dependence on Jesus—or on me trying harder?
Does this invite honesty and relief—or performance and pressure?
Does this strip away my illusion of control—or reinforce it?
If the answer leans toward the second side, hit the Adam Alarm. Because whatever’s being offered is helping the Old Adam survive. And that’s a problem.
True freedom doesn’t come from fixing the Old Adam—it comes from letting him die, every day.
That’s what Jesus meant by “taking up your cross” (Matt. 16:24). It’s not a call to suffer better; it’s an invitation to trust deeper—to die to the myth of self-made holiness and wake up to the life that’s already ours in Him.
And when we live in that dependence, we don’t just find freedom for ourselves—we become a source of relief for everyone we encounter.