Sometimes faith grows most when certainty loosens its grip, and we dare to learn again. We are often comforted by familiar words, familiar practices, familiar ways of understanding God. Yet Scripture quietly insists that remembering is not the same as standing still. Remembering, when it is faithful, keeps us open to how God continues to work, teach, and reshape us.
Throughout the story of God’s people, the message remains constant, but the way it is received changes. From the earliest pages of Scripture to the life of Jesus and the witness of the early church, God’s love is revealed again and again in language shaped to the people, the moment, and the need. What does not change is the call to love God and to love one another. What does change is how that call is heard and lived.
This is why learning can feel uncomfortable. Growth often requires unlearning, and humility is rarely painless. Paul’s story makes this plain. He stood between opposing convictions, misunderstood by nearly everyone, yet firmly anchored in hope. His life shows how dangerous it can be when certainty hardens into refusal to listen, and how powerful it can be when faith remains open to deeper truth.
The same pattern appears in the story of Naaman. Healing did not come through status, wealth, or strength, but through listening to unexpected voices and obeying a simple, humbling instruction. Servants, captives, and strangers became instruments of grace. When Naaman finally surrendered his assumptions, the unknown became known, and his understanding of God was forever changed.
Our own lives echo these stories. We are shaped by family, culture, education, and community, yet none of these are meant to be final. Circumstances shift. Seasons change. Faith matures. God invites us, again and again, to open what might be called our working house of thought, a mind and heart still willing to learn.
Jesus stands at the center of this invitation. He reoriented worship toward love expressed in service, faith lived in daily life, and remembrance that transforms the present. He asks us not to cling fearfully to old forms, but to trust him as he walks with us through change. The cost of learning may feel real, but it is small compared to the love that meets us there.