What Happens When Hearts Remain Soft to the World but Hard to Christ?
By Rich Bitterman
They sat in the back row, same as last week. Same as the week before. One thumbed through the bulletin, half-listening. Another nodded through the first hymn, then stared off when the text was read.
The preacher stepped out carrying more than exposition: he bore the weight of years spent pleading with ears that had long since closed.
Because you can love people who don’t grow. You can pray your soul dry. And still, Sunday after Sunday, their eyes glaze over when the Word is opened. Their hearts remain stubbornly soft to the world but curiously hard to Christ.
What do you say to a church like that? What do you say to a soul like yours, if you’re honest?
The author didn’t soften the blow. He swung with Scripture, not to bruise the body, but to awaken the soul before it calcified.
“You’ve become dull of hearing.” (Hebrews 5:11)
Somewhere along the way, you stopped leaning in. You got tired. Maybe disillusioned. Maybe distracted. But something shifted. And now you’re not just stuck. You’re satisfied with being stuck.
A Highchair in the Sanctuary
The picture is absurd. Almost grotesque. A grown man in a bib, clutching a bottle. A grown woman, gumming at puréed carrots while her peers build houses, raise families, lead ministries.
“You need milk,” the writer says, “not solid food.”
That’s what the author sees in this congregation. Not physical delay. A spiritual one.
You’ve been around the church for years. You nod at the right words. You raise your hands at the right chords. But you haven’t chewed meat in years. You can’t stomach doctrine unless it’s warmed over and spoon-fed.
And if someone dared to teach about Melchizedek, you’d flinch. You’d say it’s too much. Too complicated. Not practical.
But the Word of God was never meant to be practical. It was meant to be penetrating.
The Smell of Maturity
There’s a scent to maturity. You can smell it on people who’ve walked with Christ through more fire than theory. It lingers in the pages of Bibles where tear-stains meet ink. It lives in the quiet firmness of those who don’t flinch at hard truths.
Hebrews says the mature are trained. Trained by constant use of the Word.
Constant use.
They read. They wrestle. They get the dirt of Scripture under their nails. They bury themselves in the text until their spiritual instincts are rewired.
They don’t just know good from evil. They recognize it. Smell it. Anticipate it. Like a hunter who feels the shift in the wind before the deer bolts.
A Mirror, Not a Microscope
This passage holds up a mirror. Not a microscope for other people’s problems. A mirror for your own.
Are you able to teach others?
Are there doctrines that once seemed impossible but now feel like home?
Are there texts you once feared that now feed you?
If the answer is no, you should be alarmed. Not ashamed. But alarmed. Because babies are meant to grow. Teeth are meant to break through gums. Milk is meant to give way to meat.
And when it doesn’t, something’s wrong.
Kindergarten Christianity
“Therefore let us leave the elementary doctrine of Christ and go on to maturity…” (Hebrews 6:1)
Not leave as in forget. Leave as in build on.
Like scaffolding after a building is framed. Like training wheels when balance sets in. You don’t despise the alphabet because you’re reading C.S. Lewis now. You carry it with you.
But you don’t stay in kindergarten.
And yet, some do.
They know how to repent…at least in theory. They say they have faith…as long as it doesn’t cost. They got wet once. Maybe someone laid hands on them. But the resurrection? The judgment? These are hazy shadows in the distance. Fog they’d rather avoid.
The writer lists six foundational doctrines. Basic Christianity. Repentance. Faith. Baptism. Laying on of hands. Resurrection. Judgment. If you’re unfamiliar with these, you’re not just immature. You’re starving.
You haven’t even had the milk.
Fireworks or Foundations?
In some circles, maturity is mistaken for experience. For sensation. For events that happen to you.
But Hebrews says it’s the mind that grows the soul.
A preacher can stand in the pulpit and thunder down truth that rattles heaven. But if no one weeps or sways or shouts, the crowd says: Not much happened today.
But if another preacher tells stories and the music swells and someone trembles, they’ll say: Now that was a meeting.
It’s all upside down.
Emotion isn’t evil. But it isn’t evidence of maturity either.
Maturity is when your mind has been stretched. When you see more of Christ than you saw yesterday. When you walk out of the gathering, not with goosebumps, but with grip.
The Only Question That Matters
So here it is.
Are you growing?
Not are you busy. Not are you churched. Not are you sincere.
Are you growing in your understanding of the Word and ways of God?
If not, this text should shake you. Because there is no standing still in Christianity. No neutral gear. No holding pattern.
You either grow up, or you drift away.
And the drift is quieter than you think.
If God Permits
The writer doesn’t end with fear. He ends with hope. “This we will do,” he says, “if God permits.” (Hebrews 6:3)
That’s the whisper of grace.
You don’t have to stay stuck. The Spirit still breathes. Christ still intercedes. The Word still cuts and heals.
So grab your Bible. Grab a pen. Start digging. Don’t just hear. Train. Don’t just agree. Understand. Don’t just consume. Grow.
The bottle is empty.
There is meat on the table.
Come eat.
I’m Pastor Rich Bitterman, a country preacher from the Ozarks. Guy Howard, the old Walking Preacher, once wore out his boots traveling from church to church, meeting strangers and sharing the gospel. I’m doing the same today on digital roads. Each post is a visit. Each verse is a step. Let’s walk the Word together.