In 2013, a 20-year-old woman named Brooke Greenberg died in Baltimore, Maryland. But in many ways, she never lived the kind of life her parents imagined when she was born.

Brooke was a medical mystery. Though she aged in years, her body and mind never developed past infancy. At the time of her death, she weighed 16 pounds and was about 30 inches long. She still had baby teeth. She couldn’t talk. She didn’t walk. Her brain functioned like that of a six-month-old.

Doctors couldn’t explain it. They called it Syndrome X—a rare, perhaps unique, condition where the body simply stops growing. Her parents said she was, biologically, “frozen in time.”

Imagine the heartbreak. Celebrating her birthdays each year, but never seeing her walk, never hearing her say “I love you,” never watching her grow into the woman they had hoped she’d become.

Now, imagine God looking at many of His children.

Years have passed. They’ve been Christians for decades. Their names are in church directories. Their Bibles are worn from years of flipping—but not necessarily reading. They should be teachers, disciple-makers, wise elders of the faith.

But instead… they’re still in diapers.

When Time Passes, But Growth Doesn’t Happen

This is the tragic reality behind the warning in Hebrews 5:12. The writer is exasperated: “By this time, you ought to be teachers.” But instead of teaching, they’re still toddlers in the faith. Still drinking spiritual milk. Still in need of basic lessons.

This isn’t a gentle reminder. It’s a rebuke. Not for being new to the faith, but for being old and unmatured in it.

This is what Dallas Willard called “the great omission” from the Great Commission: discipleship. We’ve settled for conversion without transformation. Forgiveness without formation. Worship without maturity.

John Ortberg put it bluntly:

“Spiritual growth doesn’t happen just by getting older. You have to grow older.”

Spiritual childhood is meant to be a phase. Not a destination.

Survey Says: We’re Not Growing

Multiple major studies have confirmed what many pastors already suspect: many believers are not becoming more like Jesus. Let’s look at the numbers.

📊 The Reveal Study from Willow Creek

Willow Creek’s Reveal: Where Are You? survey gathered data from over 250,000 churchgoers and revealed a stunning truth:

Church activity does not necessarily equal spiritual maturity.

The study found that many believers who were heavily involved in programs and weekend services still described their spiritual lives as “stalled” or “dry.” They were active, but not growing. They weren’t becoming more loving, joyful, or Christlike.

Bill Hybels, then senior pastor, admitted:

“We made a mistake. What we should have done when people crossed the line of faith and became Christians is we should have started teaching people to read their Bible between services, and then get them engaged in other kinds of spiritual practices.”

📊 The Barna Group: Faith Not Changing Behavior

Barna’s State of Discipleship report found that:

• Only 1 in 5 churchgoers say their church expects them to grow spiritually.
• 60% of Christians view their faith as “entirely private.”
• A large majority couldn’t define “spiritual maturity,” much less pursue it.

In another study, Barna noted that while a majority of Americans identify as Christians, only 17% of those actually hold a biblical worldview.

📊 Bible Literacy Crisis (Lifeway Research)

In a Lifeway study:

• More than 50% of churchgoers said they read the Bible once a week or less.
• A significant number believed Joan of Arc was Noah’s wife.
• Most couldn’t name more than two of the Ten Commandments.

How can we grow in righteousness when we aren’t even feeding on the Word?

From the Pulpit: Stories Pastors Tell

Here are just a few examples drawn from ministry reports and pastoral testimonies:

• A church elder steps down because the new worship leader changed the order of service.
• A Sunday school teacher refuses to disciple someone of a different political party.
• A long-time member demands the church stop welcoming homeless people because it makes them “uncomfortable.”
• A deacon resigns in protest because the pastor began preaching from the NLT instead of the KJV.
• A group of members boycotts a potluck because it’s being held in the fellowship hall instead of the gym.
• A small group dissolves because someone in the group got a tattoo, and one member "couldn’t be in the same room with that."
• A senior member writes an angry letter to the board because the youth group plays Christian rap before their meetings.
• A family leaves the church because the pastor didn’t visit them within 24 hours of their grandmother’s passing.
• A man quits the choir after being asked to move one row back to make room for new singers.
• A woman insists her family deserves their “usual pew” and asks guests to move when they sit in it.
• A board member threatens to pull funding unless the church stops teaching on justice or racial reconciliation.
• A longtime couple leaves because the church baptized someone by sprinkling rather than full immersion.
• A Sunday greeter complains because she was no longer allowed to put political flyers in the church bulletin.
• A staff member quits because she was not invited to a leadership offsite (even though it wasn’t her department).
• A member withdraws tithing over the church updating its logo and website without his input.
• A woman refuses communion because it was served using disposable cups.
• A man loudly rebukes a teenager for wearing a hat in the sanctuary, then storms out when the pastor doesn’t address it publicly.
• A committee meeting spirals into chaos over whether or not to remove artificial flowers from the altar.
• A church splits over the decision to paint the nursery yellow instead of blue.
• A volunteer quits the welcome team because she was asked to rotate serving every other week instead of weekly.
• A church member files a complaint to the denominational office after the pastor started using sermon slides with “too many colors.”
• A small group member stops attending because someone brought gluten-free communion bread “and it just doesn’t feel sacred.”

I remember consulting with a church staff once. The conversation got heated. At one point one staff member turned to another and said, “You have no idea how much I have hated you.”

I couldn’t help but think of that old chorus we used to sing, “They will know we are Christians by our love, by our love. Yes, they’ll know we are Christians by our love.”

In all of this, what’s missing? Love. Joy. Peace. Patience. Kindness. Self-control.

Church leaders across the spectrum echo the same refrain: many believers are stuck in infancy.

The Fruit That Isn’t There

The Apostle Paul says the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. These are not advanced traits for elite believers—they are the baseline signs of life in the Spirit.

Yet many believers do not consistently exhibit these traits. According to a Barna-linked study commissioned by the Assemblies of God, only those who engage with the Bible at least four times a week show consistent increases in fruit-of-the-Spirit behavior. Even then, patience remained low.

The Tragic Tale of Hank

The best illustration of the eternal childhood of the believer that I know is the John Ortberg’s story of Hank. I quote it in its entirety here:

Hank, as we’ll call him, was a cranky guy. He did not smile easily, and when he did, the smile often had a cruel edge to it, coming at someone’s expense. He had a knack for discovering islands of bad news in oceans of happiness. He would always find a cloud where others saw a silver lining.

Hank rarely affirmed anyone. He operated on the assumption that if you compliment someone, it might lead to a swelled head, so he worked to make sure everyone stayed humble. His was a ministry of cranial downsizing.

His native tongue was complaint. He carried judgment and disapproval the way a prisoner carries a ball and chain. Although he went to church his whole life, he was never unshackled.

A deacon in the church asked him one day, “Hank, are you happy?”

Hank paused to reflect, then replied without smiling, “Yeah.”

“Well, tell your face,” the deacon said. But so far as anybody knows, Hank’s face never did find out about it.

Occasionally, Hank’s joylessness produced unintended joy for others.

There was a period of time when his primary complaints centered around the music in the church. “It’s too loud!” Hank protested — to the staff, the deacons, the ushers, and eventually the innocent visitors to the church.

We finally had to take Hank aside and explain that complaining to complete strangers was not appropriate and he would have to restrict his laments to a circle of intimate friends. And that was the end of it. So we thought.

A few weeks later, a secretary buzzed me on the intercom to say that an agent from OSHA — the Occupational Safety and Health Administration — was here to see me. “I’m here to check out a complaint,” he said. As I tried to figure out who on the staff would have called OSHA over a church problem, he began to talk about decibel levels at airports and rock concerts.

“Excuse me,” I said, “are you sure this was someone on the church staff that called?”

“No,” he explained. “If anyone calls — whether or not they work here — we’re obligated to investigate.”

Suddenly the light dawned: Hank had called OSHA and said, “The music at my church is too loud.” And they sent a federal agent to check it out.

By this time the rest of the staff had gathered in my office to see the man from OSHA.

“We don’t mean to make light of this,” I told him, “but nothing like this has ever happened around here before.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “Do you have any idea how much ridicule I’ve faced around my office since everyone discovered I was going out to bust a church?”

Sometimes Hank’s joylessness ended in comedy, but more often it produced sadness. His children did not know him. His son had a wonderful story about how he met his wife at a dance, but he never told his father because Hank did not approve of dancing.

Hank could not effectively love his wife or his children or people outside his family. He was easily irritated. He had little use for the poor, and a casual contempt for those whose accents or skin pigment differed from his own. Whatever capacity he once might have had for joy or wonder or gratitude atrophied. He critiqued and judged and complained, and his soul got a little smaller each year.

Do We Expect Transformation?

Hank was not changing. He was once a cranky young guy, and he grew up to be a cranky old man. But even more troubling than his lack of change was the fact that nobody was surprised by it. It was as if everyone simply expected that his soul would remain withered and sour year after year, decade after decade. No one seemed bothered by the condition. It was not an anomaly that caused head-scratching bewilderment. No church consultants were called in. No emergency meetings were held to probe the strange case of this person who followed the church’s general guidelines for spiritual life and yet was nontransformed.

The church staff did have some expectations. We expected that Hank would affirm certain religious beliefs. We expected that he would attend services, read the Bible, support the church financially, pray regularly, and avoid certain sins. But here’s what we didn’t expect: We didn’t expect that he would progressively become the way Jesus would be if he were in Hank’s place. We didn’t assume that each year would find him a more compassionate, joyful, gracious, winsome personality. We didn’t anticipate that he was on the way to becoming a source of delight and courtesy who overflowed with “rivers of living water.” So we were not shocked when it didn’t happen. We would have been surprised if it did![1]

Are We Growing?

Have I grown?

Am I more loving than I was five years ago?

Is my inner life calmer? Deeper?

Do people feel more encouraged, seen, and loved when they’re around me?

Do I reflect the character of Jesus more today than I did last year?

If not, you’re not alone. But you’re also not stuck—unless you choose to be.