Meeting People Where They Are: Zeal, Maturity, and the Journey Into the Father

There’s a moment in every believer’s life when the Lord quietly pulls back the curtain and lets us see why we act the way we do. Not in a shaming way, but in the tender, fatherly correction that only God can give. I had one of those moments recently in my Catholic study group.

For months I’ve been wrestling with my zeal—zeal for the truth, zeal for defending the faith, zeal for keeping our group rooted in solid doctrine. When someone shared questionable prophecies or said something emotionally driven, my instinct was to correct it fast. Sometimes out of love, sometimes out of fear, sometimes out of frustration. I felt like I had to protect God or defend the Church.

But the Lord, in His Fatherly patience, revealed something deeper to me this week.

They’re Not Wrong—They’re Growing

As I’ve watched my group, I realized many of them are in that early-disciple stage of faith. The stage where emotion, consolation, signs, and “wow” moments are the food that keeps a young believer going. They’re searching for spiritual fireworks because that’s what they know.

They thank the clouds for shapes.
They get excited about small coincidences.
They chase consolations.
They want messages and feelings.

And you know what? We all were there once.

I was there once.

The early disciples were there too. They walked with Jesus and still wanted to call down fire on people who didn’t belong to their group. They rebuked others using Jesus’ name because they thought they were the gatekeepers. They didn’t understand yet that spiritual authority doesn’t come from emotion or exclusivity—it comes from union with the Father.

It takes time for the heart to mature from “God is amazing!”
to
“God can save me!”
to
“Father, here I am.”

This Year’s Theme Hit Me Hard

Ironically, the theme of this year’s study is “God the Father”—the very first line of the Creed and the very heartbeat of the Catechism. But we hadn’t really talked about it. We kept circling consolations, feelings, private revelations, and “signs.”

At first I was frustrated.
Why weren’t we diving into the material?
Why weren’t we focusing on the Catechism?
Why weren’t we drawing people deeper?

Then God gently whispered:

“Because they are not there yet. And you don’t get to rush My seasons.”

That broke something open in me—in a good way.

My Job Is Not to Defend God

The more I prayed, the more I realized:

My job isn’t to defend God.
My job is to reflect Him.

Not to correct every misunderstanding.
Not to fix every theological drift.
Not to guard every border of the Church.

Instead:

To teach when invited.
To encourage always.
To trust the Holy Spirit more than my zeal.
And to meet people exactly where they are.

That’s the maturity the Father invites us into—the maturity of sonship. It’s calm. It’s steady. It listens. It doesn’t panic when others are in an earlier season. It doesn’t expect everyone to be where we are. It doesn’t shame enthusiasm or early-stage spirituality.

It simply guides.
Patiently.
Like the Father does with us.

The Shift I’m Making

So instead of being upset that my group isn’t diving deep yet, I’m choosing a different path:

• I’m focusing on the Catechism material with faithfulness, even if others don’t fully engage yet.

• I’m encouraging their hunger, not criticizing their immaturity.

• I’m remembering that every believer passes through seasons, and God doesn’t rush them.

• I’m choosing to be a son who reflects the Father—not a disciple calling down fire.

People don’t grow when they’re corrected into maturity.
They grow when they’re loved into it.

Closing Prayer

Father,
Give me the heart to see Your children as You see them.
Make me gentle where I’ve been sharp, patient where I’ve been urgent,
and trusting where I’ve tried to control.
Help me honor the work You are doing in each person,
and give me the grace to walk in step with Your timing—not mine.
Teach me to reflect You, not defend You.
And let me be a brother, not a judge.
Amen.