From Child to Son: The Responsibility of Inheritance.

A Deep Dive into Spiritual Maturity and the Frustration of Bare-Minimum Faith

The Bare-Minimum Gospel and the Burden of the Son

There comes a point in every true believer’s walk when something shifts—not just in understanding, but in weight. It’s the moment when the grace that once comforted you begins to confront you. When the wide-eyed wonder of being born again is no longer enough to satisfy the fire now growing inside. That fire is the burden of the son. And once you’ve felt it, it’s impossible to ignore.

We don’t talk about it much. In fact, the modern Church often numbs it. But it’s real: the grief that hits when you realize how many of God’s children have stopped at the confession. How many have settled for the starting line, claiming sonship but living like strangers. We call them “saved,” but their lives reflect nothing of the Kingdom they supposedly inherited.

This isn’t judgment. This is grief. The kind of grief that comes from watching someone receive the cure for death and then proceed to keep living like they’re terminal. And if you’re one of those who’s tasted the fullness of God and carries the weight of the Kingdom on your shoulders, then you already know the tension we’re about to talk about. This is for you.

Children of God… But Still in Diapers:

Let’s be clear: every believer is a child of God. From the brand-new convert still wet from baptism, to the seasoned theologian with 40 years of Scripture behind him—they are all children. But not all children grow up. And this is the first fracture in the Body that maturity reveals.

Yes, Jesus said, “Let the children come to Me.” That statement is wide open, filled with love, inclusion, mercy, and access. But too many believers have twisted it into a permanent license to remain spiritual infants—sipping on milk, avoiding meat, dodging accountability, and excusing their stagnation under the false covering of grace.

Being a child of God doesn’t mean you get to ignore the process of growing up. A child may be loved, but a son is entrusted. A child receives affection. A son receives responsibility. You can’t step into your inheritance without becoming a son. And too many in the faith have chosen to live in the nursery while holding the keys to the Kingdom in their pocket.

If I Were God… and You Gave Me the Temu Version of You:

Let’s be real for a moment. If I were God—and thank God I’m not—but if I were, and I gave you the cure for sin, the power of My own Spirit, access to My presence, the blood of My Son, and the promise of eternal life… and in return, you gave Me the knockoff version of yourself—the half-surrendered, casually committed, barely-any-discipline, no-pursuit, TikTok-and-meme-fed version of you—I’d be heartbroken.

Not angry. Disappointed. Because I gave you everything. And you treated it like a product sample. You gave Me the Temu version of you. Cheap. Unstable. Designed for display, not endurance. And even though My Son bled to redeem you, you’d rather give Me 10% and wonder why you don’t see the 100-fold return.

The exchange isn’t fair. It never was. Even at your best, you couldn’t repay what I gave. But to give Me the bare minimum and then complain about not experiencing breakthrough? That’s not immaturity. That’s spiritual fraud. And yet that’s what many believers do—every day, every Sunday, every post that quotes Scripture with no substance underneath.

Why Don’t They Dive In? (And Why That Excuse Won’t Work Anymore):

So why don’t they press deeper? Why do so many remain children—stunted, powerless, and content with surface-level faith?

Some don’t know they’re allowed to dive in. But what you don’t know is still something you’ll be held accountable for. Ignorance is rarely innocent—it’s usually willful. In the Kingdom, ignorance is often a choice. God has never been silent to the seeker. So the question isn’t whether you were allowed—the question is whether you ever bothered to ask.

Some were never taught that salvation was only the beginning. That’s real. But the moment you realize your cup is full of error, you are responsible for what you let stay in it. You must unlearn the traditions, empty the mixture, and fill your spirit with truth. The spoon-feeding era ends the moment you receive the Spirit. From there, you are your own gatekeeper for what enters your soul.

Some were sold a cheap gospel and think they’re good as-is. And yes, that’s a tragic reality. But it circles back to the same core issue—personal accountability. Once you encounter the real Christ, once you sense something’s missing, once the Spirit tugs on your conscience—you are responsible for what you do next. You don’t get to blame the sales pitch forever. At some point, you must buy truth at full price.

And some—let’s just be honest—simply don’t want more. And that’s why they never get more. You only receive what you pursue. And if you want the Kingdom on a clearance rack, you’ll always end up empty. The truth is, many don’t want God—they want a life upgrade. But God doesn’t trade in upgrades. He deals in death and resurrection. You don’t get new life unless the old one dies.

So no excuse holds water. Each of these justifications, when exposed to the light, becomes a choice. And every choice has a consequence.

Dead Fruit Doesn’t Feed the Lost:

Jesus said it clearly: “A tree is known by its fruit.” But what if the tree has no fruit? Or worse—dead fruit? It still takes up space. It still looks like a tree. But it feeds no one. And if you’re walking around as a believer who’s satisfied with the bare minimum—no prayer life, no pursuit, no power—then you’re presenting a powerless God to a world starving for proof.

You can’t sell someone a car on an empty gas tank. You can’t offer resurrection if you still walk like you’re in a tomb. And when thousands of Christians live like this, the result is a generation of spectators, not soldiers. Complainers, not carriers. People who wear the name “Christian” but can’t cast a shadow of Christ.

Judgment vs. Discernment: The Line You Must Not Cross.

And here’s where I was humbled. Because my frustration turned into criticism. My discernment mutated into self-righteousness. I started judging the child instead of calling the son out of them. And that’s where the Spirit gently pulled me back.

Yes, you will judge. You will perceive. You will form opinions. But your actions must always echo Jesus, not your own emotions. Your rebuke must be redemptive, not reactive. Because the moment you condemn the tree instead of pruning it, you’ve become part of the problem.

The Analogy That Says It All:

God says, “Be My son.”

But too many respond, “I’ll be one of Your son’s distant friends.”

That’s what it looks like when someone gets saved but refuses relationship. They don’t want intimacy. They don’t want obedience. They want the benefits without the bond. But inheritance doesn’t go to acquaintances. It goes to sons.

You don’t just get the robe and the ring. You get the Father’s heart. And with that comes weight. Expectation. Responsibility. Not as a burden—but as honor. Because God isn’t looking for spiritual freeloaders. He’s raising kings.

Grow Up, Step In, Carry the Weight:

To be a child of God is beautiful. But to remain a child—when you’ve been invited into sonship—is to miss the mark. And that’s exactly what sin is. To miss the design. To miss the aim. To miss the whole point of the invitation.

God is not raising a nursery. He’s building a Kingdom. He’s not after emotional dependence. He’s after mature sons and daughters who carry His name and reflect His face.

So no—this isn’t about perfection. It’s about pursuit.

It’s not about never stumbling. It’s about never stopping.

And it’s not about how much you know. It’s about how deeply you’ve said yes.

From child to son. That’s the journey. That’s the call. And that’s the weight you were born to carry.

Let the children come. But don’t let them stay children forever.

The Kingdom is calling.

The inheritance is waiting.

Grow up. Step in. Represent Him well.