FRUIT NEEDS WEATHER

I once saw a grown man working out on an ab crunch machine in the gym while eating a giant cookie. 

Many of us want spiritual fruit the same way folks want abs every January—quickly, easily, and preferably without having to change much about our habits or daily routine.

We want the results without the process. We want apples without planting the trees, a harvest without waiting on the weather, and Christlike character without the slow, steady work God does in our hearts. We want to be more loving, more patient, more self-controlled—ideally by the end of the week, and preferably without changing what we love or how we live. That one hits a little too close to home, doesn’t it?

That’s why the Bible uses the word 'fruit.' Scripture doesn’t call these things outputs, results, or metrics. It calls them fruit for a reason. Fruit is what you see on the outside because of what’s happening on the inside. Jesus said you know a tree by its fruit—what’s growing on the branches tells you what’s going on at the roots.¹

Here’s the main idea: the Fruit of the Spirit doesn’t just show up out of nowhere.

A tree can have roots, a trunk, and branches, but if the environment isn’t right, it still won’t bear fruit. It needs good soil, sunlight, air, and water. You never see fruit growing on a tree that’s floating in midair. It has to be planted somewhere real.

This is where we sometimes get stuck. We talk about Christian character—roots, values, virtues, and spiritual disciplines. We’ve already talked about the soil, the foundation of God’s truth, goodness and beauty. I won’t repeat all of that here, but let’s remember: fruit doesn’t grow unless the environment is right. The tree needs more than just structure; it needs the right surroundings.

And that’s where the Fruit of the Spirit comes in.

The fruit of the Spirit isn’t about pretending or putting on a show. It’s not about forcing a smile when you’re struggling and calling that joy. It’s not about keeping quiet and calling that peace. And it’s definitely not about stuffing your feelings down and calling that self-control.

No. Fruit is the natural harvest of a whole life rightly ordered and aligned under God.

If the soil is the True, the Good, and the Beautiful rooted in God; if the roots are those deep Beatitude-shaped postures of humility, hunger, surrender, and dependence drawing on the supplements of 2 Peter 1:5-7; if the trunk and branches are the steady virtues of a Christ-shaped life, and if the sap is the flow of spiritual habits—then fruit will only come when the whole environment is healthy. But even then, the tree still needs two things from outside itself to bear fruit.

It needs the sunlight of God’s grace shining on it.

And it needs the atmosphere that only the Holy Spirit can provide.

Fruit Isn’t Factory Output

Let’s start here: fruit is different from output.

A factory makes products using pressure, force, programming, and outside control. You push a button, pull a lever, or tighten some screws, and the product is made. Factories focus on efficiency, repetition, and getting as much done as possible.

That’s how some churches try to produce holiness. Get the right sermon series. Add a few accountability questions. Mix in a little guilt, a little fear, and some public pressure, and maybe we can crank out more respectable-looking people. Everybody learns the lines. Everybody knows the signals. Everybody gets better at acting “saved” in public.

But fruit doesn’t work that way. It's not IKEA.

Fruit isn’t cranked out. It grows. It ripens. It emerges. You can force conformity for a while. You can scare people into better manners. You can shame teenagers into silence. You can build a church culture where everybody knows how to look the part. But none of that is the same thing as fruit.

Factories are good at producing things that look the same. Orchards are better at producing something real and alive.

That difference matters because churches can get very good at looking robust on the outside while staying thin on the inside. We can look polished above ground while the roots are starving underneath. We can have what I call a wide witness without deep roots. We can clean up the attic while the foundation is still cracking. We can even get rid of the dragon and still keep the dragon-sickness.

Tolkien understood that. In The Hobbit, Smaug can be dead while dragon-sickness still slithers through a man’s soul. The beast can be gone, and greed can still be sitting in the throne room, beaming at the furniture. The idol can be smashed, yet the heart can still miss it.²

That’s the real issue.

God isn’t interested in better appearances. He wants a better tree.

The Sunlight of Grace

Every tree needs light. Without sunlight, the life inside the tree never becomes visible, vigorous, or fruitful. In the same way, Christian character doesn’t develop in the dark basement of self-improvement. It grows in the sunlight of grace.

And grace is bigger than many of us have been taught to think.

For many believers, grace is mostly God’s eraser. It’s what He uses when we mess up again. It’s the pardon pen. The rescue clause. The divine reset button for when we’ve acted like spiritually unsupervised middle-schoolers. Thank God grace does forgive. But if that’s all grace does in our minds, we’ve reduced sunlight to a flashlight.

The New Testament speaks more gloriously than that. Peter says God’s divine power has granted us all things that pertain to life and godliness. Paul says the grace of God not merely saves but trains us. Grace doesn’t just pardon the past; it forms the future. It’s God’s generous action toward us in Christ. It’s not simply His willingness to overlook our failure. It’s His willingness to share His life.³

That’s why Dallas Willard’s famous line has helped so many and why I use it in almost every blog: grace is “not opposed to effort; it is opposed to earning.”⁴ It keeps us out of two ditches that churches fall into all the time.

One ditch is legalism. That’s where we try to earn what God only gives. We turn spiritual disciplines into invoices. We pray to deserve something. We read our Bibles to feel superior. We serve so people will notice. We end up stressed and worn out.

The other ditch is passivity. We hear about grace and expect maturity to arrive at our door as quickly as a next-day delivery. There’s no training, no intention, no repentance, and no effort—just a vague hope and maybe a playlist.

Willard and Jerry Bridges both help us here. Grace isn’t anti-effort. It’s anti-merit. Grace doesn’t cancel action; it makes right action possible.⁵

Think of sunlight. A tree doesn’t create the sun. It can’t buy the sun. It can’t send the sun a bill. But it does have to live in the open, exposed to the sun. It has to stand in the light and receive what it could never make for itself.

That’s how I believe grace works.

Grace isn’t the reward for spiritual growth. Grace is the power source for spiritual growth.

That means you don’t start the Christian life by grace and then try to keep it going by grit, hustle, and religious caffeine. You don’t get saved by the gospel and then grow by self-management. You don’t start with mercy and then move on to performance. Grace isn’t just the doorway into the kingdom. It’s the climate of the kingdom.

And that’s just as true for churches as it is for individuals. A church that forgets grace gets harsh, performative, stressed, and tired. It's starting to sound more like a principal’s office than a family. The sermons get sharper than the Savior. Confession disappears. People hide. Everybody smiles on the outside and panics on the inside.

Fruit won’t grow there.

Fruit needs sunlight to grow.

The Atmosphere of the Spirit

But sunlight alone isn’t enough. Trees need air, too.

That’s where the Holy Spirit comes in.

Paul doesn’t call these virtues “the fruit of decent people,” “the fruit of church activity,” or “the fruit of trying really hard.” He calls them the fruit of the Spirit. This isn’t just a nice phrase. It’s a real theological point. Where these virtues come from matters, and so does the environment in which they grow.⁶

The Spirit isn’t just an add-on to the Christian life. He’s the atmosphere we breathe as believers.

He is the holy presence of God in and among His people. He opens our eyes to Christ. He convicts, comforts, guides, empowers, illumines, and sanctifies. He isn’t a vague religious mood or an emotional fog machine. He is the Spirit of truth, the Spirit of adoption, the One by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!”

And where He is welcomed, believed, and obeyed, the climate changes. Love starts to feel possible. Joy starts to outlast our circumstances. Peace settles in where panic once lived. Patience stops being a miracle we borrow for a few minutes and starts becoming a habit. Gentleness shows up without losing strength. Self-control becomes more than just slamming on the brakes after the crash.

In other words, that’s when fruit starts to show up.

Then there’s this: air is invisible, but it’s real. You don’t see it directly; you see what happens because of it. The same is true of the Spirit. We’re often looking for fireworks, but the New Testament points us to something steadier. The Spirit’s presence doesn’t always show up as a spectacle. Often, it shows up as sanity, steadiness, truthfulness, repentance, tenderness, courage, quiet obedience, and a growing freedom from being pushed around by appetite, anger, fear, lust, and pride.

That’s why the fruit image is so helpful. The Spirit doesn’t just decorate us. He grows something in us.

And churches can either help or hinder that atmosphere.

Some church atmospheres feel like Georgia’s clean mountain air. Truth is spoken. Sin can be confessed. Prayer is normal. Humility is honored. People aren’t pretending. Christ is at the center. You can breathe in a place like that.

Other church atmospheres feel like a smog alert day in Atlanta. Everything is anxious. Everything is about performance and image. Everybody is guarding their turf, building a platform, and calling it ministry. The calendar is packed, but the air is thin. Folks know the language of grace, but suspicion is what people really speak.

Fruit doesn’t grow well in that kind of smog.

Abiding Is How the Sap Keeps Moving

So how does the tree stay open to the sunlight of grace and alive in the Spirit’s atmosphere? I’m glad you asked.

Jesus gives the answer in one word: abide.

John 15 isn’t some nice decor from Hobby Lobby to hang on the wall. It’s one of the most practical passages in the New Testament. Jesus says, “Abide in me, and I in you.” Branches don’t bear fruit by watching tutorials on fruit-bearing. They bear fruit by staying connected to the life of the vine.

That’s what abiding is.

Abiding isn’t spiritual laziness. It isn’t just vague inspiration. It isn’t just thinking Christian thoughts. It’s the active, intentional choice to stay connected to Christ.

This is where the sap keeps flowing.

And in this picture of the Christian Character Tree, that sap moves through the ordinary means of grace: reading Scripture, prayer, worship, witness, silence, confession, fellowship, service, fasting, gratitude, Sabbath, and all the small habits that help us keep turning toward Jesus instead of turning inward.

These practices don’t earn us life. They keep us open to it.

They aren’t payments to God. They’re pathways for God’s life to move in us.

They aren’t a ladder we climb up to God. They’re the channels God uses to keep His life moving through us.

That’s why Willard’s language of vision, intention, and means (VIM) still matters. Transformation doesn’t happen by accident.⁸ We need a vision of the life Jesus actually makes possible. We need intention—a real decision—to become that kind of person. And we need means: actual practices that let grace reform our habits and our character.

Without that, we end up admiring fruit instead of bearing it.

This is also where C. S. Lewis helps. Eustace couldn’t undragon himself by scratching at the outside. He could tear off layer after layer, but the dragon went deeper than skin. He needed Aslan to do for him what he couldn’t do for himself.⁹

That’s what it means to abide.

It means refusing to settle for shallow Christianity.

It’s saying, “Lord, I’m done trying to tidy up my dragon. Go deeper.”

And yes, that can hurt.

Abiding isn’t always easy or comfortable. Sunlight exposes and disinfects. Fresh air can sting if you’ve been in a cellar. When the sap flows, it means pruning, cleansing, and surrender. But there’s no other way to get fruit. Detached branches don’t become successful. They become firewood.

The Harvest: One Beautiful Cluster

Now let’s talk about the harvest.

Paul says “the fruit of the Spirit,” not “the fruits.” That one word helps us see one harvest, not nine separate personality upgrades.¹⁰

We don’t get to say, “I’m working on kindness right now, but I’m going to keep my anger for a while.” That’s not how fruit works.

The Spirit isn’t trying to make you just a slightly nicer version of your old self. He’s working to reproduce the character of Christ in you. And Christ doesn’t come in pieces.

Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control all belong together. They aren’t just random moral add-ons. They’re all part of one Spirit-shaped life.

Love stands at the center because it gives life to the rest. Joy isn’t just pretending to be happy; it’s deep gladness in God. Peace isn’t just being passive; it’s being settled under God’s rule. Patience is endurance without bitterness. Kindness is strength that doesn’t enjoy being harsh. Goodness is moral beauty with a backbone. Faithfulness is being reliable over the long haul. Gentleness is power without roughness. Self-control is desire brought under the rule of a better King.

And all of it is meant to be shared.

Fruit isn’t for the tree itself.

Apple trees don’t eat their own apples. Grapevines don’t admire their own grapes. Fruit exists for others. It nourishes, blesses, and feeds.

That’s why the fruit of the Spirit matters so much for a church. A church may have sound doctrine, good programs, and a jammin' website, but if its people aren’t becoming more loving, more peaceful, more patient, and more kind, then something is off. The point of spiritual growth isn’t private self-admiration. It’s being useful for Christ in public.

The orchard exists for the neighborhood around it.

So, How Do We Access This Ecosystem?

Not by trying harder to look like we have fruit.

Not by hanging plastic grapes on dead branches, either.

Not by swapping one burst of religious enthusiasm for another and calling that maturity.

We access this ecosystem by receiving and responding to what God has already given.

We replant ourselves in reality. We stop treating truth, goodness, and beauty like decorations and start seeing them as the furniture of God’s world.

We stand in the sunlight of grace every day. We stop trying to bargain with God. We remind ourselves of the gospel again and again. We remember that God’s divine power has already granted what we need most.

We breathe in the atmosphere of the Spirit. We pray. We repent quickly. We keep short accounts. We stop treating things like anger, vanity, envy, and self-protection as if they’re just normal leadership patterns or excusing them by saying, “That’s just the way I am.”

We abide. We actually practice the means of grace. We read the Word until it reads us. We pray when we feel like it and when we don’t. We worship with the church rather than treating it like a hobby that can be bumped by yard work, ball games, or a three-day weekend away. We make ourselves available to God in the ordinary rhythms of life.

And we make sure we’re measuring the right thing.

Not image. Not hype. Not busyness. Not just attendance. Fruit.

What comes out of us when we’re interrupted?

What rises in us when we’re crossed?

What do people feel after they’ve been near us?

What happens in the room when pressure hits?

That’s where the orchard tells the truth about us.

The Point of It All

The goal isn’t to become just a slightly upgraded religious version of yourself.

The goal is for Christ to be formed in you and me.

And when that begins to happen, God doesn’t simply suppress desire—He transforms it. Lewis captured that memorably in The Great Divorce when the little lizard is killed and becomes a stallion. “What is a lizard compared with a stallion?”¹¹ Exactly.

When grace is received, when we breathe in the Spirit’s air, and when abiding keeps the sap moving, God doesn’t just staple better behavior onto bad roots. He turns weak appetites into holy strength. He turns frantic people into peaceful ones. He turns selfish churches into nourishing orchards.

That’s what the ecosystem of character looks like.

And that’s why the Fruit of the Spirit can’t be reduced to moral effort or church polish. Fruit is what grows when the whole life is rightly aligned and ordered under God, when the roots are in good soil, the sap is flowing, the sunlight is received, and the air is clean.

Or to put it simply:

The tree doesn’t strain to make apples.

It produces apples because it’s alive.

And where the Spirit makes people alive, fruit will show up.

Not fake fruit.

Not stapled-on fruit.

Not just conference-weekend fruit.

Real fruit.

The kind you can actually taste.

—

Endnotes

1. Matthew 7:16–20 (ESV); Dallas Willard, “Spiritual Formation: What It Is, and How It Is Done,” Dallas Willard Ministries, accessed August 13, 2025.

2. J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1987), especially chaps. 12–18.

3. 2 Peter 1:3–8; Titus 2:11–14; John 15:1–8.

4. Dallas Willard, The Great Omission: Reclaiming Jesus’s Essential Teachings on Discipleship (New York: HarperOne, 2006), 61–62.

5. Jerry Bridges, The Discipline of Grace (Colorado Springs: NavPress, 2018).

6. Galatians 5:16–26; Romans 8:1–17; Thomas R. Schreiner, “What Are the Fruits of the Spirit and the Works of the Flesh?” Zondervan Academic, August 1, 2017.

7. John 15:1–8; Psalm 1; Colossians 3:1–17.

8. Dallas Willard, “The Need, Vision and Strategy of Growing in Christlikeness,” plenary session at the European Leadership Forum, Eger, Hungary, May 20–25, 2006, Dallas Willard Ministries, accessed August 13, 2025.

9. C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (New York: HarperCollins, 2009), chap. 7.

10. Galatians 5:22–23; Thomas R. Schreiner, “What Are the Fruits of the Spirit and the Works of the Flesh?” Zondervan Academic, August 1, 2017.

11. C. S. Lewis, The Great Divorce (New York: HarperOne, 2009), chap. 11.

THE TREE IN FULL BLOOM

It was hard to write about the virtues and vices of Saul and David. I saw myself in many of the negatives and only a few of the positives. But to write about the character of Jesus, now that takes a whole other level of daring. He doesn’t present to us character as we are. That was the purpose of writing on Saul and David. Jesus Christ presents to us the character of what we may become.

So as you read this, please remember that I’m just doing my best. My presentation of Jesus as the blueprint for real human character will have deficiencies. I know this because I have flaws myself, and that extends to my writing. But I also feel compelled to write because we need a vision of what true Christian character should look like. That is my purpose: to display to you, as closely as I can, a view of Jesus’ character through the Blueprint of the Christian Character Tree. Perhaps this will even correct some misconceptions of who Jesus is and how that affects what we are to become. 

Sometimes, folks talk about Jesus like he’s just a motivational speaker with better one-liners. Others treat him as if he’s a spiritual insurance policy in sandals. But neither of those pictures comes close to who he really is. For us as born-again believers, Jesus Christ is our Lord, our Savior, our substitute, and our risen King. He didn’t just show up to hand out a few tips for better living or sprinkle some wisdom on our problems. He came to rescue sinners—through his life, his death on the cross, and his resurrection.

But here’s the thing: because he’s our Savior, Jesus also shows us what it means to be truly human. If you want to know what a whole, holy, and joyful human life looks like, don’t start with Plato, Jordan Peterson, Mel Robbins, or even your favorite preacher. Start with Jesus. He’s not just a good man—he’s the God-man.¹ That also makes him the smartest man. Dallas Willard wrote:

He is the smartest man who ever lived. He is now supervising the entire course of world history (Rev. 1:5) while simultaneously preparing the rest of the universe for our future role in it (John 14:2). He always has the best information on everything and certainly also on the things that matter most in human life.²

So my friends, when we look at his life on earth, we see what God intended for us all along.

This changes how we look at the Christian Character Tree we’ve been talking about. If you’re like me, your tree has seen better days. The soil gets a little polluted, the roots get tangled, and sometimes the trunk is wobblier than we’d like to admit. And the fruit? Well, let’s just say it’s not always ready for the produce aisle. But when we look at Jesus, his tree is the picture of health. His soil is pure, his roots go deep, his trunk is strong, and his limbs reach high. The sap flows freely, and the fruit is always the real thing. Jesus doesn’t just admire truth, goodness, and beauty—he is truth, goodness, and beauty in person. He didn’t just preach the Beatitudes; he lived them. He didn’t just talk about virtue; he put it into action—touching the untouchable, calling out the fakes, blessing children, and walking straight toward the cross.³

The Soil: Truth, Goodness, and Beauty in Person

At the very bottom of this tree is the soil—truth, goodness, and beauty. These aren’t just fancy ideas we hang on the wall of our minds. They’re rooted in God himself.⁴ When Jesus came, these big ideas weren’t just theories anymore. They showed up as a real person. As John says, “The Word became flesh and lived among us,... full of grace and truth ” (John 1:14, ESV).  Jesus never twisted the truth or used it as a weapon. He spoke it because he is the truth. He’s the only one who can honestly say, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life” (John 10:10, ESV) 

He is pure goodness, with not a hint of corruption. Jesus loves what is right, not because he’s trying to keep up appearances or earn a gold star. He’s never petty, never vindictive, never working an angle, and never stingy with his mercy. Even when he speaks hard truths, it’s never because he’s just fed up. When he calls someone out, it’s not for show. His passion is a holy love that refuses to settle for even half-truths. That’s why Jesus can be gentle with a hurting person and tough with a hypocrite, all in the same afternoon, and never be two-faced.⁵

And then there’s beauty. Not the kind that gets you a million followers or a product endorsement. Isaiah said Jesus didn’t have the kind of looks that would turn heads. He didn’t win people over with style. But spiritual beauty just shone from him. You see it in his mercy to the woman caught in adultery, in the way he welcomed children, in his meals with outsiders, in the towel he used to wash feet, and in his calm strength before his accusers. The cross, which looked ugly to the world, became the most beautiful moment in history because Jesus, the sinless Son of God, gave himself in love.⁶

The Roots: The Beatitudes as the hidden life of Jesus

We often treat the Beatitudes like a list of impossible goals, or possibly something you’d find stitched on a throw pillow from Hobby Lobby. But they’re much more than that. They’re the hidden roots of God’s kingdom. Before they ever describe us, they describe Jesus. He isn’t ‘poor in spirit’ because he’s lacking anything—he’s sinless. But in his human life, he depended completely on his Father. He never went off on his own or acted like independence was the same as maturity. Again and again, the Gospels show Jesus living in humble, joyful trust in what the Father wanted.

That kind of trust is the deep root of real spiritual life. Jesus is meek, but never a pushover. He’s merciful, but not soft. He’s pure in heart, not just putting on a show. He’s a real peacemaker, not someone who just pretends everything’s fine to keep the peace. He hungers and thirsts for righteousness, and he takes the heat for it all the way to the cross. For Jesus, the Beatitudes aren’t just nice ideas—they’re the climate of his heart.⁷

When we get this, we see how these roots draw up the supplements Peter lists in 2 Peter 1: virtue (moral excellence), knowledge, self-control, steadfastness, godliness, brotherly affection, and love (as a supplement, not the theological virtue discussed later). Peter didn’t just come up with these after too much coffee in the Seminary library. He learned them by watching Jesus up close. He saw virtue in Jesus’ choices, knowledge in his wisdom, and self-control in his discipline. He saw steadfastness under pressure, godliness in every day, brotherly affection for the disciples, and love that went all the way to the end. Peter’s list sounds like a man trying to describe the air he breathed for three years.⁸

The Trunk: The cardinal virtues fully integrated in Jesus

This is the part of the tree that does the heavy lifting. The trunk is made up of the cardinal virtues: prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude. These are the main supports for life. The theological virtues—faith, hope, and love—reach up like big limbs and branches toward God. For us, these virtues can be a little shaky or out of balance. In Jesus, they all fit together perfectly.

Take prudence. It’s not being timid—it’s knowing what faithfulness looks like in the moment. Jesus had it in full. He knew when to speak and when to stay quiet. He could spot a trap a mile away and never got caught. He could read a room, see what was in someone’s heart, tell a story, give a warning, welcome a sinner, or walk away when it wasn’t the right time. He was never rash, never gullible, never swayed by the crowd, and never panicked. You couldn’t trick him into foolishness.⁹

Now look at justice. Jesus always gives God and people what they’re owed. He honors his Father and tells the truth about sin, even when it’s unpopular. He never flatters the powerful. He turned over tables in the temple because worship matters, and he called out hypocrisy because people matter. He noticed those that everyone else ignored: widows, the poor, the blind, the ashamed, and the unclean. He wasn’t just ‘nice’—he was truly righteous. That’s why he was a blessing to the vulnerable and a real threat to the phonies.¹⁰

Think about his temperance. Jesus wasn’t ruled by his appetites. Hunger didn’t control him in the wilderness. Popularity didn’t go to his head in Galilee, and power didn’t tempt him in Jerusalem. He enjoyed a good meal, but food, comfort, or approval never ran his life. He had authority without showing off, power without pushing people around, and freedom without losing control. If temperance is keeping your desires in check, Jesus is the only one who has always kept both hands on the wheel.¹¹

Then there’s fortitude. C. S. Lewis said courage is every virtue at the testing point. If that’s true, Jesus is courage itself. He wasn’t reckless or dramatic for the sake of it. He was steady. When truth called for it, he walked right into conflict and set his face toward Jerusalem. He faced misunderstanding, loneliness, betrayal, injustice, torture, and the cross. In Gethsemane, we see that real courage isn’t lack of pain—it’s obeying God even when it hurts. Jesus didn’t float to the cross on a cloud. He went there sweating blood, praying honestly, and standing firm to the end.¹²

The Limbs: The theological virtues fully realized in Jesus

Now for the theological virtues: faith, hope, and love. We need to be careful here. Jesus is the Son of God, so he isn’t a ‘believer’ just like we are. But as a real man, his life was distinguished by perfect trust in his Father. He prayed, he obeyed, he rested in the Father’s plan, and he gave himself over to God completely. His life shows us what faith looks like with no sin in the way.¹³

This is also where the ancient theological term kenosis really matters. Philippians tells us the Son "emptied himself"—ekenosen. This doesn't mean Jesus stopped being divine, shaved off his Godhood, or shoved his divine attributes into a locker somewhere outside of Bethlehem. It simply means he didn't exploit his equality with God for personal gain. He chose humility, taking on the form of a servant. He did this by adding humanity rather than subtracting deity, willingly accepting the messy realities of a human life: weakness, dependence, suffering, obedience, and relying on the Spirit for ministry. The incarnation wasn't some kind of divine method acting. Jesus wasn't pretending. He actually lived a human life exactly as it was designed to be lived: fully yielded to God, entirely empowered by the Spirit, and obedient all the way down. This is precisely why he is both our substitute and our ultimate pattern.¹⁴

Hope stands out in Jesus, too. In the Bible, hope isn’t just wishful thinking or a forced church smile. It’s a solid confidence in what God has promised. Jesus lived with that kind of hope. He endured the cross ‘for the joy set before him.’ He knew the kingdom was coming, that his Father would vindicate him, and that suffering wouldn’t have the last word. His hope wasn’t about avoiding reality—it was anchored in the resurrection to come.¹⁵

And then there’s love. In Jesus, love is the tree in full bloom. He doesn’t just feel kindly toward people—he gives himself for them. He loves his Father completely and loves his people ‘to the end.’ He spends his days blessing, teaching, touching, warning, feeding, forgiving, weeping, washing dirty feet, carrying shame, and giving up his life. He doesn’t love by lowering the bar. He loves because real holiness always includes love.¹⁶

The Development of Jesus: growth without sin, maturity without moral defect

Careful theology is important here. Let’s be clear about this: when we talk about Jesus growing in character, we don’t mean he went from bad to good, or selfish to holy, or confused to wise, as we do. He never sinned. He never had to apologize or ‘get his act together.’ 

Luke records that Jesus increased in wisdom, in physical stature, and in favor with both God and people. The book of Hebrews points out that even though he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered. Kenosis tells us this growth isn't a staged performance. The incarnate Son embraced the actual, day-in and day-out conditions of living a human life. That doesn't mean he started out disobedient and eventually learned to obey. Instead, his perfectly sinless obedience was tested, lived out, proven, and matured through real human experiences.¹⁷ Think of it like a masterfully crafted sword that only shows its true strength in the heat of battle. Or, for the Tolkien fans among us, like Aragorn’s sword, Andúril, which had to prove itself before he could lead the Army of the Dead.¹⁸ Jesus’ obedience was not like a chronic liar who finally figures out how to tell the truth. It was perfect from the beginning, but it was made evident and complete through the trials he endured.

So yes, Jesus really did grow as a human. Really. The boy in Nazareth became the man who faced the wilderness. The carpenter became a rabbi, and the rabbi became the suffering servant. The one who obeyed at home obeyed in obscurity, in popularity, in controversy, in sorrow, in Gethsemane, and all the way to death. His character didn’t need fixing—it was revealed and proven more and more as time went on. That’s why he’s not just the Savior who forgives us; he’s the model for what mature humanity looks like.¹⁹

The Sap: the spiritual disciplines in the life of Jesus

If the actual Son of God relied regularly on prayer, solitude, Scripture reading, fasting, worship, community, and service, why do we so often treat these things as optional extras for the super-spiritual? 

Jesus didn’t treat his time with the Father as an afterthought. He got up early to pray. He pulled away to quiet places. He spent whole nights praying. He fasted in the wilderness. He read the Scriptures and quoted them as if every word had come straight from his Father—because it did. He made sure to worship in the synagogue. He kept steady rhythms of Sabbath, teaching, table fellowship, service, and mercy. He chose deep communion over a hurried life. His spiritual disciplines weren't religious life hacks. They were the vital channels for a lived, direct connection with the Father, empowered by the Spirit.²⁰

This is exactly why Dallas Willard’s insights are still so helpful. Remember, Willard emphasized that Jesus isn't just an atoning sacrifice; he's the smartest man to ever live—the only one who really understood how life works. Richard Foster framed it differently but made the same point: Jesus is the master of life, not simply a religious mascot. Modern leaders like John Mark Comer, John Ortberg, and the Renovaré ministry continue to hammer this home for our generation: if we seriously want to become like Jesus, we can't just admire his stellar character while totally ignoring the habits that sustained it.

The sap that keeps the tree healthy isn’t just good intentions or warm feelings. It’s a life built around God’s presence, soaking up the atmosphere of the Spirit, and living in the light of God’s grace.²¹

The Fruit: what perfect character looks like when it ripens

When you put all this together, it’s easy to spot the fruit of the Spirit in Jesus’ life—it’s everywhere you look.

• Love? It's everywhere.

• Joy? Not a fake smile or forced cheerfulness, but a sincere delight in his Father and real gladness in doing God’s will.

• Peace? He could sleep through a storm and calm anxious hearts.

• Patience? He put up with slow, forgetful disciples longer than most of us could stand.

• Kindness? Children ran to him, not away from him.

• Goodness? No mixed motives—ever.

• Faithfulness? He finished everything the Father gave him to do.

• Gentleness? He never broke a bruised reed.

• Self-control? Every desire and bit of power was kept in check.²²

Simply put, Jesus isn’t just a branch on the character tree—he’s the whole tree in full bloom.

And here’s the main point. The goal of the Christian life isn’t to stand around admiring Jesus like art critics at a museum. The real goal is to be united with Christ by grace through faith, so that his life is formed in us by the Holy Spirit.

We’re not saved by trying to copy Jesus. We’re saved by Christ alone. But if we belong to him, we’re also learning from him. The standard is Jesus himself, and thankfully, our hope is Jesus, too.

So when we ask what perfect human character looks like, it’s not a list of traits—it’s a person. Jesus is truth with a heartbeat, goodness with calloused hands, and beauty bending down to wash dirty feet.

He’s the root, the trunk, the limbs and branches, the sap, and the fruit—all in one amazing life. 

If you ever wonder if real Christian character is possible in a world as broken as ours, just look at the Gospels. Jesus isn’t just an example to admire. He’s a Savior to trust, a King to obey, and a life we’re invited to share.²³

Endnotes

1. Luke 2:40, 52; Heb. 4:15; 5:8–9; John 1:14 (ESV).

2. Willard, Dallas. The Divine Conspiracy: Rediscovering Our Hidden Life in God. Harper, 1997. p. 95.

3. Matt. 5:1–12; 2 Pet. 1:5–7; Gal. 5:22–23 (ESV). See also Jonathan T. Pennington, The Sermon on the Mount and Human Flourishing: A Theological Commentary (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2017); and Jonathan T. Pennington, “3 Things You Didn’t Know About the Sermon on the Mount,” The Gospel Coalition, November 16, 2017.

4. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, I–II, q. 61 and q. 62, trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province, New Advent, accessed March 31, 2026,https://www.newadvent.org/summa/2061.htm andhttps://www.newadvent.org/summa/2062.htm; Peter Kreeft, Wisdom of the Heart: The Good, the True, and the Beautiful at the Center of Us All (Charlotte, NC: TAN Books, 2020).

5. Mark 10:18; John 2:13–17; 8:1–11; 18:37 (ESV). See also D. A. Carson, Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount and His Confrontation with the World: An Exposition of Matthew 5–10 (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1999).

6. Isa. 53:2; John 13:1–17; 19:1–30 (ESV). See also Timothy Keller, “The Humility of Jesus,” Gospel in Life, May 24, 1998.

7. Matt. 5:3–12; John 5:19, 30; 6:38; 8:29 (ESV).

8. 2 Pet. 1:5–7 (ESV). See also N. T. Wright, After You Believe: Why Christian Character Matters (New York: HarperOne, 2010).

9. Luke 2:46–47, 52; Matt. 22:15–22; John 2:23–25 (ESV). See also Craig L. Blomberg, Jesus and the Gospels: An Introduction and Survey, 2nd ed. (Nashville: B&H Academic, 2009).

10. Matt. 23:1–36; Mark 11:15–17; Luke 4:18–19 (ESV). See also D. A. Carson, Jesus the Son of God: A Christological Title Often Overlooked, Sometimes Misunderstood, and Currently Disputed (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2012).

11. Matt. 4:1–11; John 6:15; Mark 1:35–39 (ESV).

12. Luke 9:51; 22:39–46; Mark 15:1–39 (ESV). See also Timothy Keller, “The Heart of Jesus,” Gospel in Life, February 11, 2007.

13. John 5:19, 30; 8:28-29; 17:1-26; 1 Pet. 2:23 (ESV). 

14. Phil. 2:5-8 (ESV), Gerald F. Hawthorne, The Presence & The Power: The significance of the Holy Spirit in the life and ministry of Jesus. Word, 1991. pp. 207-208. This is the best source in my opinion in one place to understand the role of the Holy Spirit in Jesus’ ministry and particularly the explanation of kenosis in Ch. 7 of this book. See also Wayne Grudem, Systematic Theology, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Zondervan Academic, 2020), chap. 26; Millard J. Erickson, Christian Theology, 3rd ed. (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2013), Part 7; John MacArthur, "What does it mean that Christ 'emptied Himself' in Phil. 2:6-7?" Ligonier, accessed March 31, 2026; Jason C. Meyer, "Only the Greatest Humility Accepts the Lowest Place," Crossway, December 14, 2021; and Mark Jones, "Why Jesus Needed the Holy Spirit," Desiring God, March 12, 2019.

15. Heb. 12:2; Luke 23:46 (ESV). See also N. T. Wright, Interpreting Jesus: Essays on the Gospels (Grand Rapids: Zondervan Academic, 2020).

16. John 13:1; Mark 10:45; Luke 19:41; 23:34 (ESV).

17. Luke 2:52; Heb. 2:10; 4:15; 5:8-9 (ESV). See also John Piper, "How Did Jesus 'Learn Obedience' and 'Become Perfect'?" Desiring God, June 30, 2016; and "Why Did Jesus Need to 'Learn Obedience'?" Desiring God, December 25, 2017.

18. J.R.R. Tolkien. The Lord of the Rings. William Morrow, Illustrated Edition, 2021, pp. 789-790.

19. Luke 2:51–52; Matt. 4:1–11; Phil. 2:5–11(ESV).

20. Matt. 4:1–4; Mark 1:35; Luke 4:16; 5:16; 6:12; 22:39–46 (ESV).

21. Dallas Willard, The Great Omission: Reclaiming Jesus’s Essential Teachings on Discipleship (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2006), 61–62; Dallas Willard, “Doing What Jesus Did,” dwillard.org, November 16, 2002; Richard J. Foster, “The Jesus Way of Life,” Renovaré; Richard J. Foster, “Ten Counsels in Spiritual Formation,” Renovaré; John Mark Comer, Practicing the Way (Colorado Springs: WaterBrook, 2024); Practicing the Way, “About,” accessed March 31, 2026,https://www.practicingtheway.org/about; John Ortberg, The Life You’ve Always Wanted: Spiritual Disciplines for Ordinary People (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2002); John Ortberg, “About,” accessed March 31, 2026,https://www.johnortberg.com/about.

22. Gal. 5:22–23; Mark 4:35–41; Matt. 11:28–30; 12:18–21 (ESV).

23. These organization is all about our becoming formed into the image of Christ: Renovaré, “About,” 2026,https://renovare.org/about/overview; John Mark Comer has spent years seeking to develop spiritual disciplines which will help place a person in the position for God’s spirit to work in his heart, mind and Soul. Practicing the Way,https://www.practicingtheway.org/; and John Mark Comer, “Practicing the Way,” www.johnmarkcomer.com. 

SAUL'S HOLLOW TRUNK AND DAVID'S DEEP ROOTS

Some trees look strong, but a storm shows what they’re really made of.

You know the kind of tree I’m talking about. From the street, it looks healthy and full of life. You might even think it could handle a tire swing and half the youth group hanging from its branches. But let a storm come through, and suddenly a branch snaps, the trunk splits, and the whole thing topples right into your flower bed. It’s a bit like those folding chairs at the church picnic that always seem to give out just as someone sits down with a plate full of fried chicken. The real issue isn’t what you see on the outside. It’s what’s happening inside the trunk that makes all the difference.

That, in a nutshell, is the story of Saul. 

Israel wanted a king like all the other nations had. They wanted someone tall, impressive, and who looked like he belonged on the cover of Israel Today—if they’d had magazines, that is. Saul checked every box. If Israel had a church directory, his photo would be right on the front page.¹ But Saul’s strength was all surface. He had enough charisma to get the job, but not enough character to keep it.

David, on the other hand, didn’t grow up in the spotlight. God shaped him out in the sheep fields, not on a stage.

Before David ever wore a crown, he wore out a few pairs of sandals chasing sheep. Before he sat on a throne, he spent plenty of nights hiding in caves. Before he led anybody else, he had to learn to lead himself—and sometimes that meant tears, mistakes, and singing psalms when nobody, except God, was listening. When God chose David over Saul, it wasn’t because David was perfect. The difference was deeper. Saul kept chasing the crown but never really gave his heart to God. David, even with all his failures, kept coming back to the Lord. That’s why the Bible calls him a man after God’s own heart—not because he never messed up, but because he kept turning back to God.²

This is where our “Christian Character Tree” comes in. If the soil is the True, the Good, and the Beautiful, the roots are the Beatitudes, the trunk is made up of the cardinal virtues, and the big branches are faith, hope, and love—then Saul and David are like two trees in the same storm. Saul looked tall, but his roots were shallow. David, on the other hand, was slowly formed by God’s grace into someone who could stand strong when the wind picked up.

And that difference still matters today. Like I’ve said before, the cardinal virtues—prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude—can show up in folks who don’t even know the Lord. You probably know someone who’s not a believer but still returns their shopping cart, pays their bills on time, and keeps their yard looking sharp. But faith, hope, and love are a different story. Those aren’t just personality upgrades; they’re gifts from God, the result of His work in our hearts.³ In the Old Testament, you see David’s heart waking up to God, while Saul is content to look religious without really surrendering.

Saul Had the Crown, but Not the Trunk

To be fair, Saul wasn’t your typical villain, nor did he intend to be. He had natural gifts. He had stature, battlefield energy, and at least some early modesty. At one point, he was literally hiding among the baggage when they went looking for him. That is not nothing. He was capable of decisive action in battle, and in flashes, he showed the kind of courage that rallies people in a crisis. If we were mapping him on the cardinal virtues, we might say Saul had hints of fortitude and leadership capacity. He could act. He could command. He could look the part.⁴

But Saul’s virtues didn’t go deep because they weren’t rooted in God.

He lacked prudence because he couldn’t control himself when things got tough. When Samuel was late, Saul panicked and made a sacrifice he shouldn’t have. When people pressured him, he gave in. When the Philistines threatened, he broke the rules and called it necessary. That’s not wisdom. That’s just fear dressed up as religion.

He lacked justice because he often chose to protect himself rather than do what was right. He disobeyed God’s command about Amalek, kept what he was supposed to destroy, and tried to cover it up with religious words. He kept the loot, blamed others, and acted like partial obedience with some worship music counted as faithfulness. It didn’t.⁵

He lacked self-control because his emotions ran his life. He made rash promises, threw spears, brooded, and got angry. He became jealous when people praised David. Saul couldn’t stand hearing someone else get credit. Once envy started, he kept feeding it.⁶

He also lacked real courage deep down. He could be brave in battle, but moral courage is different. C. S. Lewis said courage is not simply one virtue among others but “the form of every virtue at the testing point.” Saul failed that test again and again. He didn’t stand firm when obedience was hard, unpopular, or embarrassing. He was brave in a fight, but not brave enough to admit when he was wrong.⁷

That last point is at the core of why Saul fell.

Saul’s main problem wasn’t just that he sinned. David sinned too, and sometimes in terrible ways. Saul’s real issue was that he cared more about his image than about being honest. When Samuel confronted him, Saul said, “I have sinned,” but then quickly asked Samuel to honor him in front of the elders and the people. That’s the problem. Even his confession was about keeping up appearances. Maybe he wanted forgiveness, but he definitely wanted to look good. His need for the people’s approval was right up there with his need for air to breathe. 

Saul seemed far more troubled by losing the kingdom than by grieving the God who gave it. That’s why his confession always feels like he’s lifting his finger to see which way the wind is blowing. He was not mainly trying to get right with God. He was trying to keep the throne from wobbling.

In the language of my tree metaphor, Saul was a tall trunk with rot at the center. In the language of Lewis, he was a man without a chest—outer frame, inner deficiency.⁸ In the language of Tolkien, he’s the man who keeps thinking that power can be managed if he just holds it with better intentions. But power doesn’t politely stay in the tool shed. It gets into the bloodstream. At the Council of Elrond, the Ring is declared unusable because it is “altogether evil.”⁹ That is a useful warning here. Saul kept trying to hold onto kingship on worldly terms and then use it for godly ends. That never works. You don’t sanctify disobedience by stamping a Bible verse over it.

David Grew in the Field Before He Ruled in the Palace

David’s life is almost the opposite pattern.

He was anointed young but didn’t get the throne until much later. That waiting period wasn’t wasted time—it was God’s mercy at work.

Alan Redpath observed that conversion may happen in a moment, but the making of a saint is the task of a lifetime.¹⁰ That fits David exactly. God was not misplacing the crown while David was in the pasture and in the caves. He was seasoning the timber.

God sent David to “Oak School” in a sheep pasture. There, he learned hiddenness, faithfulness, and courage before applause. He killed lions and bears when no choir was singing about it. Then, when Goliath stomped into the valley running his mouth against the living God, David was ready—not because he had attended a leadership conference, but because his private life had already been formed by trust. He refused Saul’s armor and went out in the name of the Lord. That is faith, not as vague religious sentiment, but as in-the-moment dependence on God.¹¹

There, right at the front end of the story, David begins to show the theological virtues.

He has faith. “The battle is the Lord’s” is not a slogan on a coffee mug. It is a worldview. David lives as though God is actually there, actually holy, actually involved, and actually decisive.

He has hope. Read the fugitive psalms (psalms written while running from Saul and his army), and you find a man who gets afraid, grieves deeply, and still turns his face toward God. Hope in Scripture isn’t wishful positivity. It is confidence in valid promises. David hopes because he believes God’s character is sturdier than his circumstances.

And he has love. You see it in his zeal for God’s name, in his loyalty to Jonathan, in his mercy toward Saul, in his later kindness to Mephibosheth, and in his aching grief over Absalom. David’s love was not always clean and unconflicted, but it was real. The branch bent toward God and toward neighbor, not just toward self.¹²

Now add the cardinal virtues.

David had prudence, especially in his early years. He learned to wait. That may be one of the most underrated virtues in the whole story. Twice, he had Saul in his grasp. Twice, he might have sped up the promise with a knife. Twice, he refused. He wouldn’t seize by sin what God had promised by grace. That is practical biblical wisdom. It's knowing that the wrong means will deform the right end.

David had justice. At his best, he ruled with righteousness, sought the good of the people, honored covenant loyalty, and used power to bless rather than merely to dominate. His treatment of Mephibosheth alone is a flashing sign that he understood kingship as stewardship.¹³

David had temperance, though not perfectly. For long stretches, he showed remarkable restraint: he wouldn’t kill Saul, wouldn’t retaliate as quickly as his men wished, and repeatedly submitted his timing to God. But this is where we have to tell the truth. No playing favorites here. David’s collapse with Bathsheba and Uriah was not a small lapse. It was catastrophic. The man who once refused to grab a kingdom used his power to grab a woman. The man who once protected the weak arranged the death of a devoted soldier. In that chapter, the trunk cracked. But it didn’t split. This should give many flawed men hope that he may still be used by God. 

David also had fortitude. He faced giants, exile, betrayal, civil war, grief, and public shame. But the deepest form of his fortitude may not be in combat at all. It may be in his willingness to be humbled by God. Lewis was right: courage is every virtue at the testing point. For David, one of the fiercest tests was not whether he would face a Philistine with a sling, but whether he’d face his own sin without excuse when Nathan said, “You are the man.”

That is where the real difference between Saul and David becomes impossible to miss.

Both men sinned. Both men were confronted. Both men said, in one form or another, “I have sinned.”

But Saul’s confession curved back toward public image. David’s confession fell forward into the mercy of God. “I have sinned against the Lord.” No spin. No committee statement. No attempt to save face with the donors in the lobby. Then came Psalm 51, which I believe to be one of the most searching prayers in the Bible. Here, David asks not simply for consequences to be softened but for the heart to be remade. This isn’t a man trying to keep his reputation intact. This is a man asking God to tell the truth all the way down and then create in him a clean heart.¹⁴

That may be the clearest contrast between the two kings. Saul looked devastated at the thought of losing the kingdom. David looked devastated because he had sinned against the Lord. Saul grieved the collapse of his image. David grieved the rupture of communion. One wanted the throne secured. The other wanted the Presence restored. 

That's why David became a great king, even though he was never a perfect one. His greatness wasn’t that he never fell. His greatness was that grace had made him returnable. Oh Lord, may we all be returnable. 

Saul was hard.

David was breakable.

Saul defended himself against the light.

David eventually collapsed into it.

Saul wanted enough God to help preserve the throne.

David wanted God—even when the throne itself became part of the discipline.

That breakability is not frailty. It is one of the surest signs of spiritual life.

The Difference Was in What They Loved

This is where the Transcendentals help.

Saul had a disordered relationship to the True, the Good, and the Beautiful. He did not want truth in the inward being; he wanted manageability. He’d use truth when it helped him and dodge it when it threatened him. Goodness, for Saul, often became whatever preserved his position. Beauty, in the biblical and classical sense, requires rightly ordered love, but Saul’s loves were badly bent. He loved approval, control, and survival more than he loved obedience.

David, by contrast, shows a heart increasingly captured by the True, the Good, and the Beautiful. He wanted truth in the inward parts. He wanted goodness, not merely success. And he wanted the beauty of the Lord. When he says, “One thing have I asked of the Lord… to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord,” he isn’t speaking like a pragmatist or a religious performer.¹⁵ He’s speaking like a man whose loves are being reordered.

Peter Kreeft has argued that the deepest movements of the human heart are directed toward truth, goodness, and beauty because they ultimately point toward God.¹⁶ David increasingly lives that way. Saul increasingly does not.

Or, to borrow another Lewis image, Saul kept feeding the Tragedian. In The Great Divorce, Lewis portrays a tiny Dwarf dragged around by a grandstanding theatrical self.¹⁷ In my opinion, it is one of the best pictures of image management ever put on paper. Saul keeps polishing the public self while the inner man shrivels. David does ugly things, grievous things, but by grace, he keeps dragging the real self back into the presence of God, where truth can do its painful work.

What Saul Did Not Have, What David Was Still Learning

So what did Saul lack among the seven virtues, and what did David possess? Glad you asked.

Saul showed fragments of prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude (courage) in natural form, but none of them were stable enough to carry the load. They were not rooted deeply enough in the fear of God. His faith was shallow, his hope collapsed into despair, and his love curved inward. He ended as a man consulting a medium in the dark because he’d spent years refusing the clear Word of God in the light.

David, on the other hand, showed all seven virtues in real, although imperfect, form. Prudence in waiting. Justice in ruling. Temperance in restraint. Fortitude in suffering. Faith in battle and exile. Hope in the Psalms. Love in worship, loyalty, mercy, and grief. But he remained weak in the places many gifted leaders are weak: sexual appetite, comfort, and family management. David’s story is not “be like David because David was awesome.” David’s story is “behold what grace can build in a man, and behold how badly that man still needs mercy.”

Dallas Willard loved to say that grace is not opposed to effort but to earning. David’s life illustrates that better than most. His hidden years weren’t earning the kingdom; they were training for it. His habits in the pasture and cave became what Willard would call a kind of habitual capability. When the moment of testing came, character did what character does. Saul kept reaching for hacks. David was being trained into a heart.¹⁸

And that, honestly, is where this lands for us in the church today, particularly in our Southern Baptist ones.

We in the church still know how to pick Sauls. We are suckers for height, charm, confidence, a big platform, and the kind of polish that makes you think someone was born holding a microphone. We still confuse giftedness with godliness and charisma with character. One does not preclude the other, yet we don’t often differentiate and then choose the more important. We still want kings like the nations.¹⁹

But God still looks at the heart, not the highlight reel.

He’s still less impressed with the shine than with the solid joinery underneath.

He’s still less impressed with the platform than with the root system.

He’s still less impressed with quick results than with long obedience in the same direction.

The crown doesn’t make the man stronger. It just shows what’s already there.

If there’s a final lesson here, it’s this: The real question isn’t whether you have public gifts—Saul had plenty. The question is what kind of person you’re becoming when nobody’s watching. Can truth get past your defenses? Does goodness matter more to you than success? Has God’s beauty started to change what you love? Are faith, hope, and love alive in you by God’s grace? And when the pressure comes, do you harden up like Saul or break open like David?

Because eventually the storm comes.

Eventually, the branch bears weight.

Eventually, the throne gets heavy.

And when that day arrives, hacks will not hold you.

Image management will not save you.

A borrowed suit of armor will not make you strong.

Only roots. Only trunk. Only Limbs. Only the slow, steady work of God’s grace.

God didn’t just hand David a throne. He spent years growing a tree that could hold the weight.

Know someone who could use this encouragement? Why not share it with them now?

Endnotes

1. 1 Sam. 8:5, 20; 9:2; 10:23–24 (English Standard Version [ESV] ).

2. 1 Sam. 13:14; 16:7; Acts 13:22 (ESV). See also S. A. Fix and J. Robert Vannoy, “1 Samuel,” TGC Bible Commentary, The Gospel Coalition, https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/commentary/1-samuel/ ; Sinclair Ferguson, “A Man After God’s Own Heart,” Ligonier Ministries, November 20, 2008, https://www.ligonier.org/posts/a-man-after-gods-own-heart. 

3. Saint Thomas Aquinas. The Summa Theologica. Edited by Mortimer J. Adler et al., Translated by Laurence Shapcote, Second Edition, vol. 18, Robert P. Gwinn; Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 1990, pp. 60-61.

4. 1 Sam. 10:22, 26; 11:6–13 (ESV).

5. 1 Sam. 13:8–14; 15:1–24, 30 (ESV).

6. 1 Sam. 18:7–11; 19:9–10; 22:16–18 (ESV). See also John L. Mackay, “Was King Saul Possessed by Demons? (1 Samuel 19),” Crossway, June 24, 2021, https://www.crossway.org/articles/was-king-saul-possessed-by-demons-1-samuel-19/. 

7. C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters (New York: HarperOne, 2001), chap. 29. See also 1 Sam. 15:20–31 (ESV).

8. C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man (New York: HarperOne, 2001), 25.

9. J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, Illustrated ed. (New York: William Morrow, 2020), “The Council of Elrond,” p.267.

10. Alan Redpath, The Making of a Man of God: Lessons from the Life of David (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Publishing Group, 2004).

11. 1 Sam. 16:11–13; 17:34–47 (ESV). See also Burk Parsons, “The Heart Restored,” Ligonier Ministries, https://learn.ligonier.org/articles/heart-restored; Alan Redpath, The Making of a Man of God: Lessons from the Life of David (Grand Rapids, MI: Revell, 2004).

12. 1 Sam. 24:3–12; 26:7–11; Pss. 56:3–4; 57:1; 2 Sam. 1:17–27 (ESV).

13. 2 Sam. 8:15; 9:1–13; Ps. 27:4 (ESV); see also 1 Sam. 23:2; 30:8; 2 Sam. 5:19 (ESV).

14. 2 Sam. 11:1–27; 12:1–13; Ps. 51 (ESV). See also Matt Erbaugh, “The Heart of True Repentance,” Desiring God, December 26, 2017, https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/the-heart-of-true-repentance; Trevor Laurence, “8 Steps for Real Repentance from Psalm 51,” The Gospel Coalition, April 24, 2018, https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/article/steps-repentance-psalm-51/.

15. Psalm 27:4 (ESV). 

16. Peter Kreeft, Wisdom of the Heart: The Good, the True, and the Beautiful at the Center of Us All (Charlotte, NC: TAN Books, 2020). See also Peter Kreeft, “The Good, the True and the Beautiful,” PeterKreeft.com, accessed March 28, 2026, https://www.peterkreeft.com/audio/27_good-true-beautiful_org.htm. 

17. C. S. Lewis, The Great Divorce (New York: HarperOne, 2001), chap. 13.

18. Dallas Willard, The Great Omission: Reclaiming Jesus’s Essential Teachings on Discipleship (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 2006), 61–62. See also Dallas Willard, “Personal Soul Care,” Dallas Willard Ministries, accessed March 28, 2026, https://dwillard.org/resources/articles/personal-soul-care; Dallas Willard, Renovation of the Heart: Putting on the Character of Christ (Colorado Springs, CO: NavPress, 2002).

19. R. Scott Pace and Jim Shaddix, “3 Ways That Scriptural Leadership Differs from Secular Leadership,” Crossway, January 9, 2024, https://www.crossway.org/articles/3-ways-that-scriptural-leadership-differs-from-secular-leadership/. See also 1 Sam. 16:7 (ESV).