Innocence or Ignorance? A Layman’s Reflection on Growing in Faith

Should We Stay as We Are—or Grow?

A natural question arises when we begin to downplay the importance of theology—especially systematic theology. Should we remain with our initial, limited understanding of faith? Or should we grow deeper and more mature in it?

Sevanand, in his rebuke to the Galatians, expresses his frustration that though they should have grown enough to handle “solid food,” he still has to feed them “milk” (cf. Galatians 4:9, Hebrews 5:12–14 [author unknown]). This shows that maturity in faith is expected, not optional.

We grow in every area of life. A child doesn’t remain on milk forever; so too, in our spiritual life, growth must follow new birth. But as we grow, the challenge is not to lose the tenderness and simplicity of our early faith. That’s where this reflection begins.

Is Mature Love Less Emotional?

Let’s consider a very human example—romantic love. A young couple in the early days of their relationship may express great emotion and romantic excitement. But over time, as they grow older and face life together, they may not show the same kind of emotional intensity. Yet their love need not diminish. In fact, it may deepen.

As a single man, I cannot speak from my own experience. But I’ve observed many couples, heard them share in counseling sessions, and listened to countless programs—especially in Tamil Nadu—where anchors offer advice on love, marriage, and conflict resolution, often speaking as though they were trained counselors or had studied psychology.

What I’ve noticed is that when mature couples go through conflict or friction, they often recall their “first love.” That memory has a healing power. As they remember those tender moments, their hearts soften. In a way, they return—not to childish romance—but to the sweetness that started it all.

This is not just emotional comfort; it’s relational wisdom. In fact, modern psychology supports this.

What Psychology Says: A Simple Insight

Psychologist Robert Sternberg proposed a well-known model called the Triangular Theory of Love. He says love has three key elements:

1. Passion – physical attraction and energy
2. Intimacy – emotional closeness and connection
3. Commitment – the decision to remain faithful and invested

In mature relationships, passion may fade, but intimacy and commitment deepen. This form of love—called companionate love—is often quieter but far more stable and nourishing. Sternberg also notes that revisiting the early expressions of love—recalling shared memories or rituals—helps couples reconnect emotionally.1

This human reality mirrors a spiritual one. Even in our relationship with God, we may not always feel the same emotions we did at the beginning. But maturity doesn’t mean coldness. It means a deeper, richer connection—often built through pain, patience, and understanding.

“Unless You Become Like a Child”

But then comes the question: Didn’t Muktinath say that unless we become like little children, we cannot enter the Kingdom of God? (Matthew 18:3)

Yes—He did. And He meant it.

But what does that mean? To become childlike is not to become childish. He is not asking us to return to ignorance or naivety. Rather, He is calling us to return to the simplicity of trust, the humility of dependence, and the freedom from ego.

The same Muktiveda reminds us to be “innocent like doves and shrewd like serpents” (Matthew 10:16). This beautiful balance of simplicity and discernment is exactly what mature bhakti should look like.

Two Biblical Pictures: Chanchal Das [Peter] and Annapoorni [Martha]

This balance between growth and childlikeness is beautifully seen in the lives of two people: Chanchal and Annapoorni.

• Chanchal, though once overconfident, denies Muktinath three times (Luke 22:61). After the resurrection, Muktinath restores him—not with condemnation, but with three gentle questions: “Do you love Me?” (John 21:15–17). Chanchal ’s “yes” here is not the brash declaration of a zealous follower. It is the broken but honest voice of a man who has failed and been forgiven. His love has become mature. Not childish—but childlike.
• Annapoorni and Ashisha, too, illustrate this well (Luke 10:38–42). While Annapoorni is preoccupied with service, Ashisha sits at Muktinath’s feet. Muktinath affirms Ashisha’s posture—not because learning is better than service, but because childlike devotion must remain central, even for those busy with “mature” responsibilities.

These stories show that maturity in faith is not about accumulating knowledge alone, nor about emotional fervor alone. It is about a faith that can endure failure, hold truth in tension, and still sit at the feet of the Lord with wonder and humility.

The Blessing and the Danger of Systematic Theology

That said, let me conclude with childlike honesty—as a lay person and not a trained theologian. I must acknowledge something important.

Most of the verses I’ve quoted—the rebuke in Galatians, the “first love” in Revelation, the dove and serpent imagery, and even the stories of Chanchal  and Annapoorani—were not originally written with this particular theme of “innocence vs. ignorance” in mind.

So yes, in a strict sense, I have taken them out of their original context.

But I do so not to twist them, but to draw a devotional meaning from their deeper spirit. This is, in a way, a layman’s systematic theology—not one that builds doctrines, but one that builds reflections. It is meant to edify, not to argue.

Still, this comes with a gentle warning: systematic theology is a blessing when it helps us connect the dots and grow in faith. But it becomes a burden when it makes us rigid, proud, or dismissive of others. Theology should support our bhakti, not smother it. It should deepen our relationship with the Lord, not make it mechanical or cold.

There is a deeper side to this too. While theology helps us understand, our soul doesn’t always need understanding—it needs surrender.

In Jungian psychology, there is the idea of the anima—the unconscious feminine part of the male soul. It represents emotion, intuition, beauty, surrender, chaos—everything our rational, theological mind is often trained to suppress. Jung himself, a man of science and structure, discovered in his Red Book journey that the soul doesn’t respond to intellect—it responds to reverence. The feminine within him—appearing in the form of Salome—did not need to be analyzed or managed. It needed to be honored.

And this is precisely where religious systems, including theology, can falter. In trying to explain salvation, purity, and truth with formulas, we can miss what the soul actually needs: attention, listening, feeling, vulnerability.

The danger is not theology. The danger is when theology becomes a wall that keeps us from listening to the heart of God. The soul does not grow in tightness. It grows in tenderness.

Final Thought: Grow, But Stay Tender

To grow in faith does not mean to lose our wonder.
To become mature in theology does not mean to become dry in love.
And to return to our first love with the Lord does not mean to return to emotionalism—
but to a deeper tenderness and trust.

We are not called to childishness.
But we are called to be childlike.
And that is a gift only grace can give.

Note 1 – Bibliography (Sternberg’s Theory)

Sternberg, Robert J. (1986). A Triangular Theory of Love. Psychological Review, 93(2), 119–135. https://doi.org/10.1037/0033-295X.93.2.119

Ashram, July 6, 2025

Appendix

Appendix: Sternberg’s Triangular Theory of Love

(Summary-accessed by ChatGPT, July 6, 2025]

Psychologist Robert Sternberg proposed that love has three core components:

1. Passion – physical attraction and emotional intensity
2. Intimacy – closeness, trust, and emotional bonding
3. Commitment – the decision to stay loyal and maintain the relationship over time

Different combinations of these three elements produce different kinds of love. For example:

• Romantic love combines passion and intimacy
• Companionate love joins intimacy and commitment (common in mature marriages)
• Consummate love, the most complete form, includes all three

Over time, passion may fade, but intimacy and commitment deepen, leading to a more stable and mature form of love.

This model helps us understand how emotional intensity may decrease with time, but love itself can grow stronger through trust, shared purpose, and lasting devotion.

Jung’s Anima:

In Jungian psychology, this is called the anima—the unconscious feminine side of a man. For women, the corresponding counterpart is the animus, the unconscious masculine. These are not merely gendered traits but archetypal energies. The anima represents emotion, intuition, surrender, mystery, beauty, and chaos—everything our rational, ordered world tends to suppress.

Jung himself had suppressed her for years. He had lived in his mind—ideas, science, structure, discipline. But in his Red Book journey, his soul began to take a different shape, refusing to be managed by intellect alone. The anima could not be analyzed. She had to be honored.—summary of Transcript from