INTRODUCTION
I’ve noticed something woven through Scripture that won’t leave me alone. You cannot separate loving God from loving others. It’s not a nice addition to faith. It’s the proof that faith is real.
And it shows up in the simplest way: through the choices you make when you think no one’s paying attention. Through the boundaries you cross. Through what you make acceptable.
Because someone is paying attention. Not to condemn you. But to learn from you. To build their own conscience based on what they see in yours.
Last month I sat with a man who’d lost three years to addiction. It started when he watched someone he respected—someone he believed had their faith figured out—make a choice he thought was wrong. But that person did it without hesitation. So he did it too. And then again.
“I thought if it was okay for them,” he told me, “it must be okay for me.”
It wasn’t.
The hardest part was watching him realize: Someone was watching me the whole time, and I never even knew it.
This is what Christian maturity actually confronts. Your freedom in Christ doesn’t happen in isolation. Your choices shape the spiritual trajectory of people around you—especially those still learning what it means to follow Jesus.
Recognize Spiritual Weakness in Others
Scripture won’t let us ignore this: not everyone is at the same place spiritually.
Some believers are newly converted, still finding their footing, with tender, raw consciences. Others have spent years in God’s Word, understood Christian freedom deeply, learned that an idol is nothing, that eating meat sacrificed to false gods holds no spiritual power. They have knowledge. Perspective. Freedom.
But the mature believer often forgets what weakness felt like.
“Howbeit there is not in every man that knowledge: for some with conscience of the idol unto this hour eat it as a thing offered unto an idol; and their conscience being weak is defiled.”
Look at what this reveals: the weak believer isn’t sinning by struggling. Their conscience is doing exactly what it should—warning them, protecting them. The tragedy is that their conscience is bound by old patterns, old fears. They haven’t yet grown strong enough to see past them. But they will, if given space. If protected. If someone mature enough doesn’t place an obstacle in their path.
Spiritual weakness is real. It’s not stupidity or spiritual failure. It’s vulnerability. It’s where we all are when we’re learning something that challenges everything we believed. A tender conscience isn’t a character flaw—it’s trying to protect us while we figure out what we actually believe.
Mature believers have a responsibility to protect that conscience, not exploit it.
Reevaluate What Counts as Christian Maturity
Spiritual maturity gets tested in one place: the gap between what you have the freedom to do and what serves someone else’s spiritual welfare.
“But meat commendeth us not to God: for neither, if we eat, are we the better; neither, if we eat not, are we the worse.”
This isn’t about food. It’s about what determines your standing with God. And here’s what Scripture says directly: not what you consume. Not your freedom. Not your rights. How you exercise your freedom in relation to someone else’s conscience determines whether you’re mature or selfish.
This cuts deep because most of what we defend as “Christian freedom” doesn’t build God’s kingdom. It doesn’t make us holier. It just proves we can do it. And that’s not maturity. That’s self-interest.
“But knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth.”
Knowledge—especially about what you’re free to do—inflates. It makes you feel superior, justified, right. But love? Love builds. It enlarges others. It considers their growth before your comfort.
Real spiritual maturity is knowing you’re right, knowing you’re free, and choosing to set that aside anyway. Understanding that your freedom has a cost and someone else might be paying it.
Understand the Stumbling Block—Your Example Is Always Teaching
Here’s the hard truth in Christian living: you’re always teaching. Every choice sends a message about what’s acceptable. Every boundary you cross teaches someone else it’s safe to cross theirs.
“But take heed lest by any means this liberty of yours become a stumblingblock to them that are weak.”
A stumbling block isn’t an insult. It’s an obstacle. In spiritual terms, it’s when your example—your choices, your justifications, your willingness to cross a line—teaches someone fragile in faith that it’s okay to violate their own conscience.
I know a couple in church who were respected. Mature, everyone thought. When a young man newly sober and his wife were invited to their home, they accepted. They were hungry for Christian community.
The hosts offered wine. They didn’t hesitate.
The man’s conscience screamed. This is wrong. This will destroy me. But these were trusted believers. People everyone admired. If they thought it was fine, maybe his conscience was lying. Maybe he was being too rigid. So he drank.
Six months later, he was back where he started. The church had cut him loose.
“And through thy knowledge shall the weak brother perish, for whom Christ died?”
That word: perish. Not disappointed. Perish. That’s how serious this is. A mature believer’s careless freedom destroyed someone’s entire spiritual trajectory.
This is why vigilance matters. Why you can’t separate loving God from loving others. Every choice is a window of opportunity—either to strengthen someone’s faith or to place an obstacle in their path. Either to teach them that integrity is worth the sacrifice or that convenience is what matters.
“But when ye sin so against the brethren, and wound their weak conscience, ye sin against Christ.”
Let that land. When you wound someone’s conscience—when you teach them to ignore their own moral instincts—you’re sinning against Christ. Because Christ died for that person. He died for their growth, their freedom, their ability to stand firm. You’ve just taught them bondage.
Become Vigilant—The Cost of Christian Freedom
So what does this require of us? How do we live as believers knowing we’re always affecting someone?
We become vigilant.
Not paranoid. Not paralyzed by guilt. Intentional. Aware. Careful about who we’re influencing and in what direction.
“But take heed lest by any means this liberty of yours become a stumblingblock to them that are weak.”
“Take heed” isn’t optional. It’s a command. Always. Not when you feel spiritual. Not when it’s convenient. Always.
It means asking hard questions:
- Who in my sphere is spiritually fragile right now?
- What would happen if they saw me make this choice?
- Am I exercising my freedom or being careless with theirs?
- Is what I want worth the risk to someone else’s faith?
When you ask those honestly, the answer becomes clear. You don’t need permission to step back. Your love for that person—and your understanding of what it costs to be a Christian—will guide you.
“Therefore, if food makes my brother stumble, I will never eat meat, lest I make my brother stumble.”
That’s not extremism. Not legalism. That’s love. That’s what spiritual maturity looks like: willingness to set aside your freedom permanently because you love someone more than you love your rights.
PASTORAL CALL TO ACTION
Here’s what I want you to do this week:
Identify who you’re influencing. Your children. A coworker who looks to you for guidance. A younger believer in your church. Someone in your family who’s spiritually fragile. Know who’s watching.
Examine one area where you might be placing a stumbling block. Not to shame yourself. But to see clearly. Is there something you’re defending as your right that you should reconsider for someone else’s sake? A boundary you’ve crossed you’re justifying? Something you’re doing in your freedom that might teach someone else to compromise theirs?
Make one deliberate choice this week to protect someone’s conscience. Not for you. For them. Say no to something you have every right to do. Choose restraint. Model what it looks like when maturity means sacrifice.
Finally, hold this: Loving God and loving others are not separate commands. They’re the same command. Your freedom—all of it—exists in the context of someone else’s spiritual welfare. That’s not a burden Christ places on you to shame you. That’s the freedom he died to give you: the freedom to choose love over liberty, others over yourself, their growth over your comfort.
This is what it means to be vigilant. This is what Christian maturity requires.
If you’re wrestling with how to practically live out your faith when freedom and responsibility collide, I’d encourage you to explore what it means to renew your thinking around God’s faithfulness. My book Standing in the Dark walks through the biblical foundation for trusting God in the midst of life’s darkest seasons.