Here’s some of the best news I could ever offer—you can grow spiritually.
You can learn! You can grow!
You can be more like Christ tomorrow than you are today.
It’s wonderful news because learning is one of the greatest thrills in life.
Look at a toddler learning to walk. See her glee as she takes her first steps, tumbles, and gets up again. Observe a kindergartner learning to read. Watch his joy as he puts together his first sentence: “Go, dog, go.” Behold an Olympian who breaks his own world record. Imagine a cancer researcher who finally sees the path to a cure.
We are wired for growth, so we feel joy when we learn, when we expand.
While we don’t grow physically all our lives, I am convinced we can grow spiritually until our final breath.
But how? Is there a pathway—a gateway—that opens us to spiritual growth?
Yes.
Classically, the practices that lead to spiritual growth have been called the spiritual disciplines. Eugene Peterson called them the “rhythms of grace.” John Mark Comer calls them “the practices of Jesus.”
I like to call them the gateways of grace—the means by which we appropriate more and more of God’s transforming power.
Because I am a lover of grace, I tread carefully when beckoning believers toward behavioral change. We’ve had far too much moralistic Christianity—far too much religious exhortation to read our Bibles more, pray more, and go to church more as if that’s what being a Christian is all about.
I’m part of a revolution that says, “No—the Gospel isn’t about what you do for God. It’s about what God has done for you in Christ!”
The Gospel isn’t an exhortation to be a better person or even to discover a better life. The Gospel is an announcement—pure, simple, and glorious –- an announcement like the angelic declaration to the shepherds:
“I bring you good news of great joy… a Savior has been born to you.”
Everything that makes the Good News good has to do with grace—the unmerited favor and affection of a holy God lavished upon us in the Person of Jesus Christ.
But Peter gave this strange, beautiful exhortation: “…grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.” (2 Peter 3:18, ESV)
Grow in grace.
What an odd, lovely phrase.
It’s odd because “grace” (Greek charis) means, simply, gift. Peter is saying, “grow in the gift.” By definition, a gift is something that comes to you freely. But how can a gift “grow?
I vividly remember my first bike. It was there on Christmas morning near the tree—a black Schwinn with a banana seat. I think I was the happiest boy in the world when I saw it.
I could never have saved enough money to buy it. If I was going to have that bike, it had to be given to me. It was a gift. It was all grace.
Could the gift of the bike grow? No, of course not.
But I could grow in my capacity to enjoy and use the gift.
First, I had to learn to ride without training wheels. There were some tumbles along the way. But I learned. I grew more confident. Eventually, I became Evel Knievel on that bike—soaring across a plywood ramp set on a log. That bike took me down Pinetop Road to Claxton School and back every day. It carried me all the way to Green Valley swimming pool in the summertime.
The bike didn’t grow—but I did. And as I grew, the gift became more fruitful to me. The better I became at riding a bike, the bigger the gift of the bike became to me.
Maybe that is what Peter means when he exhorts us to “grow in grace.” Like riding a bike, as you learn to flow with the gift of grace, you learn to appropriate more and more of the gift. The word for “grow” can mean “expand to the extreme limit.” Wouldn’t you like to expand to the extreme limit your experience of the grace of God?!
That’s why I like to think of the spiritual disciplines as gateways of grace. Habits like Scripture reading, meditation, rest, and prayer help us access the gift God has already given. They are like gates that open into a vast and beautiful field of God’s goodness that we might never have otherwise explored.
Becoming More Like Christ
From my earliest days of faith, I knew I didn’t just want to be saved by Jesus—I wanted to be like Him. I wanted His love, His joy, His power, His wisdom.
In my quest to be more like Jesus, I unconsciously adopted a kind of “What Would Jesus Do?” strategy.
But anyone who tries to become like Jesus by simply trying to act like Jesus soon discovers that no real transformation is taking place. We don’t become like someone by trying to mimic them.
As a kid, I rode my Schwinn to Green Valley swimming pool most summer days. I’d swim and then I’d play tennis with anyone willing. Eventually, I played competitively—traveling to tournaments and playing on my high school team—but it all started there at that neighborhood pool.
And there, at Green Valley, was an older kid I thought was the greatest tennis player I had ever seen. He seemed to float across the court. His one-handed backhand was smooth as butter. His footwork was poetry. His serve was like a cannon.
I loved the way he dressed, the shoes he wore, the racket he played with.
I wanted to be like him. I wanted to be him.
One day I saw him playing in a red shirt with an alligator on it, crème white shorts, and Fred Perry shoes, and, I decided I wanted all that gear. After much pleading with my mom, I eventually got the shirt, the shorts, the shoes, and even the same racket.
I looked like a miniature version of him.
But there was a problem.
I didn’t have his swing. His strength. His skill.
Who could have known? It turns out you can’t become a great tennis player by dressing like one.
Tennis players are formed—over time—through lessons, drills, repetition, and the right environment.
Paul, the great apostle of grace, used a similar image:
“Every athlete exercises self-control in all things… So I do not run aimlessly… but I discipline my body…” (1 Corinthians 9:25–27)
Spiritual disciplines are not your attempt to become more like Jesus. They are pathways to experience the Person and grace of Jesus more fully—and as you experience Him, you become more like Him.
John Mark Comer describes the disciplines as “practices” that create space for us to experience the presence and power of the Holy Spirit. Eugene Peterson called them “rhythms of grace.”
Here’s how I would say it:
Spiritual disciplines are biblical, Christ-centered habits that serve as gateways to God’s grace—fostering a daily friendship with Jesus that, over time, forms us into His likeness.
If you begin to get excited about growing spiritually through the gateways of grace—and I hope you do—you’ll need to watch out for two equal and opposite errors.
On one side is moralism (or legalism): treating spiritual disciplines as laws we must live up to.
On the other side is passivity: assuming that because we are saved by grace, what we do doesn’t matter—that growth will happen automatically or only through ecstatic spiritual experiences.
I’ve nearly fallen into both ditches. Early in my Christian journey, I was part of a ministry that emphasized having a daily “quiet time.” It was a wonderful emphasis, and I cherish what I learned.
But as a teenager, it wasn’t always easy to set aside time—early in the morning as a sleepy-headed youth or late at night after school, tennis practice, and homework.
So, my friends and I held each other accountable: “How are your quiet times going?”
It was a great question.
But over time, it started to feel like the metric of my whole spiritual life.
If I had good quiet times, I must be doing well. If I missed several days, I must not be flourishing.
Later, in college, I encountered the power and presence of the Holy Spirit in a fresh way. In worship gatherings, the Spirit brought unspeakable joy and deep healing—what felt like spiritual surgery in my soul.
I remember thinking, This is like a hundred great quiet times in a few minutes!
And I began to wonder if daily discipline really mattered.
Richard Foster, in Celebration of Discipline , describes these dangers beautifully:
“Picture a long, narrow ridge with a sheer drop-off on either side. The chasm to the right is the way of moral bankruptcy through human strivings for righteousness…. The chasm to the left is moral bankruptcy through the absence of human strivings. This has been called the heresy of antinomianism. On the ridge there is a path, the Disciplines of the spiritual life. This path leads to the inner transformation and healing for which we seek. … As we travel on this path, the blessing of God will come upon us and reconstruct us into the image of Jesus Christ. We must always remember that the path does not produce the change; it only places us where the change can occur. This is the path of disciplined grace.”
Pause and let that sink in. The path does not produce the change; it only places us where the change can occur.
The disciplines don’t produce transformation. They position us for it. They open the gate.
An Invitation
In the coming blog posts, I hope to show you the spiritual disciplines as gateways of grace—practices that open you to vast new expanses of spiritual beauty. I’ll invite you to explore classic practices like reading Scripture, meditating, cultivating wonder, resting in Christ and praying. I think you’ll find yourself inspired, not burdened.
As we embark on this journey of spiritual disciplines, remember: Grace is free. You can’t manufacture it. You can’t earn it.
But growth is not automatic. It is cultivated through the habits of our spiritual lives.
And so I invite you to walk with me—to step through these gateways, and to discover just how expansive the grace of God truly is.
I look forward to learning with you as we “grow in… grace.”
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