Christ Changed Me . . . Slowly
I was six years old the first time I felt contempt. The object of my scorn was a new babysitter, and when she spoke to me in a high, sing-song voice usually reserved for babies, I felt a wave of contempt flood my body. Who was this girl? Didn’t she know I was almost seven years old? I could teach her a thing or two about kids. I was better than her.
In the years that followed, contempt became a settled habit. This sin that Jesus equates with murder (Matt. 5:22) was invisible to people around me, but steadily corroded my ability to love and have compassion during conflict. This was particularly destructive in my marriage, where instead of unconditional love, my husband found an eye roll or a demeaning comment.
John Gottman, famed marriage therapist, claims to be able to predict divorce over 90% of the time just by identifying the presence of contempt in a spouse. You can imagine my horror when I realized that this secret little sin of mine, so passive and civilized, was causing harm to those I loved the most.
Thankfully, this was not the end of my story. I repented, confessed my sin, sought the help and prayers of godly friends, and meditated on the forgiveness and grace of Christ. Over the years, the Spirit has used these ordinary means of grace to change my heart. But I have relapsed and regressed many times. During seasons of weakness or stress, contempt creeps back into my words and my body language and I witness its destruction yet again. And so I begin the work once more of repentance, confession, community and grace. I know that God is changing my heart. I am witness to his work.
But why does he have to do it so . . . slowly?
Slow Progress Teaches a Holy Despair
What happens when you fail to get your life together? How does it feel to keep on sinning after you’ve been forgiven? In the 2016 film The Edge of Seventeen, Hailee Steinfeld’s character confesses to her brother, “You know, ever since we were little, I would get this feeling like I'm floating outside of my body, looking down at myself. And I hate what I see. How I’m acting, the way I sound. And I don't know how to change it. I'm so scared that the feeling is never gonna go away.” This is the distress of the sinner. And if you’re in any way conscious of what Jesus suffered on your behalf, the first thing that happens is that you start to feel incredibly miserable with yourself.
The Apostle Paul confessed, “For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing . . . What a wretched man I am!” (Rom. 7:18–19, 24). As we come to terms with the unnerving reality that even with the indwelling Spirit we still can’t make ourselves be good, we become filled with a holy despair. And this despair, as crushing as it may feel, is what will keep us stationed at the cross of Christ. We could not save ourselves, and we cannot change ourselves. Only in Christ do we find shelter from the storm of our own sin.
I have a friend who was a drug addict before coming to Christ. After her salvation she immediately stopped using drugs. I have often wondered why God doesn’t heal me of contempt the way he healed my friend of her drug addiction. But the ongoing presence of sin in my life keeps me painfully aware of my daily need for Christ, and my utter desolation without him.
Slow Progress Teaches Us to Abide with Christ
We come to the cross with a desire to be made right with God, but once there we begin to develop a desire for something infinitely more precious—the person of Christ himself. As our holy despair keeps us stationed at the cross, we see Christ in all his glory, beauty, righteousness, gentleness, and love. He wins our heart, and then we start to live out the calling of the Christian—to abide with Christ. But this abiding is not the Zen contemplative life of the supposed moral elite. Rather the daily longing of those conscious of their primal need for Christ. To quote the famous hymn, “I need thee, oh, I need thee; ev’ry hour I need thee.” Slow progress teaches us to abide with Christ, but to abide with him in weakness, humbly aware of our need for him.
Yet it is this very humility that becomes the fertile ground for growth. Coming from a place of dependence, we engage in the good work of transformation with “fear and trembling,” conscious of the fact that it is, “God who works in [us] to will and to act according to his good purpose” (Phil. 2:12–13). As Thomas Merton says, “How does an apple ripen? It just sits in the sun.” As we daily abide in the Son, we will see our own selves mature and ripen, and become fruitful sons and daughters of Christ. Or as Jesus said it, “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5).
Slow Progress Teaches Us to Cultivate Holiness
Our culture is over-impressed by fast-acting results that require little effort. Too often, Christians can get swept away in this same thinking and feel discouraged when we don’t see more rapid change in our lives. But what is more miraculous, a lame man walking or a seed growing into a tree? The answer, of course, is that they both require God’s power. And while Scripture is loaded with stories of God miraculously intervening in human lives, I would suggest that God prefers to create change with the help of time.
During a spiritual retreat, a friend once directed his group to go off into the mountains and to pay attention to the pace of things. “If we look around at what God has made it’s pretty obvious that things just take time. God is rarely, if ever, in a hurry. We need to get into the pace of God.” There is a reason why Scripture is laden with imagery of gardens, farming, plants and all manner of growing things. And anyone who has kept a garden knows that it is not a hobby you can pop in and out of. It takes daily attention, messy work and a resilience that keeps going after repeated failure. Slow growth, and the cultivation that it requires, provides the depth that we long for.
When God delivered the Israelites from slavery to the Egyptians, he led them to the land of Canaan, to drive out the wicked nations living there in order to establish a better kingdom. “But I will not drive them out in a single year, because the land would become desolate and the wild animals too numerous for you. Little by little I will drive them out before you, until you have increased enough to take possession of the land” (Ex. 22:29–30). God is driving out the sin in your life, but he does it little by little, so that the savage beasts of pride, self-righteousness and apathy will not take over. Over time, he will develop in you the skill to cultivate holiness in the spaces where sin once dwelt.
The Patience of God
Slowly, gradually, we realize the truth: “The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance” (2 Pet. 3:9). It is not God who is slow in changing us, but rather we who are slow to change. The list of our sins that hang on Christ’s crucified body is long and our awareness of the list keeps growing. And yet God is patient with us. And patiently with us in our slowness and weakness.
Understanding God’s patience towards us can help us be patient towards others who we find slow to change. When you feel frustrated at a new believer’s relapse, when you despair that your child will ever learn, when a dear friend’s recurring sin brings you to your knees, remember that people’s stories are long. We can be patient with others, walking with them on their own bumpy journey of transformation, knowing that God is patiently with us on ours. “And he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Phil. 1:6).
The other day, my husband commented on my kindness toward him. I felt a surge of joy at his words, realizing that this meant that God had changed me. I have been so slow to give up contempt; I often fail and see others suffer the consequences of my actions. But I know that the Lord is working in me. And he won’t give up on me but will give me everything I need to change. Even time.
Aanna Greer lives in Marin County, California with her husband and three children where they recently moved to relaunch a church. She also writes and speaks on the topic of sexuality and is the author of Darling: A Woman’s Guide to Godly Sexuality. You can find her on her website and on Instagram.