Imagine standing at a banquet table overflowing with the finest food – bread warm from the oven, fruits sweet and ripe, charcoal grilled chicken, creamy pasta, fresh salads drizzled with dressing, platters of khebab, and decadent slices of cake. The cups are filled to the brim with water turned to juice, not wine, because around here we choose to be filled with the Spirit, not the spirit. 

Now imagine watching people walk by that table every day without ever stopping to taste a thing. They’ve grown so used to seeing it there, so familiar with its presence, they’ve forgotten they were ever meant to eat, to feast, and to relish the company of the One who prepared it all.

Then picture a starving man entering the room. Eyes wide, heart pounding, he rushes forward with trembling hands and grateful tears. He eats. He savors. He is filled.

That’s what it’s like when someone steps out of empty religion and meets Jesus for the first time.

Whether you realized it or not, I’ve just retold the heart of the parable Jesus shared in Luke 14 – about the man who prepared a great banquet and sent out invitations. But those who were invited made excuses and refused to come. So the master sent his servants out to bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame. And when there was still room, he said,

“Go out to the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in, so that my house will be full.” (Luke 14:23)

The table was always prepared. The invitation was always open. Some ignored it. But others – the hungry, the overlooked, the desperate ran to it. And they were filled.

I remember meeting someone years ago in university when I was wandering the campus, looking for someone who seemed unbothered enough to spare a moment to hear me ramble about Jesus. That’s when I met Farah. She was quiet, almost cautious at first. But when she finally spoke, there was such depth and certainty in her words that I found myself asking if she was already a believer. After all, my whole reason for approaching her especially after hearing her name was to introduce her to the very concept of Jesus and see where the conversation might lead.

Farah and I kept in touch after that first meeting. Over time, we met up a few more times – sometimes to pray together, sometimes to evangelize, and other times simply to buy food and catch up on how we were faring academically. What began as a spontaneous conversation became a small but meaningful friendship, rooted in something simple yet beautiful: we both knew God, and we both loved Him. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.

Farah had grown up in a devout religious home but not a Christian one. She had been taught to pray five times a day, to fast rigorously, and to earn her way toward favor with a distant god who, she was told, weighed good and evil on a scale.

When she met Christ, everything changed.

I asked her once why she seemed so hungry to read Scripture, why her prayers sounded like conversations with a dear friend rather than rehearsed lines from a book. I also noticed something else – while many Christians when they run out of words in prayer, quickly lean on tongues as their saving grace, Farah flowed effortlessly. Her prayers never felt strained or forced. She praised, she interceded, she gave thanks – all with a vocabulary so rich in Scripture it felt like the Word had shaped not just her prayers, but had become the language of her heart.

Her answer was simple but profound:

“Because I know what it’s like to pray and hear nothing. I know what it’s like to seek and never find. Now that I’ve found Him, I won’t stop seeking” – she said more but you get the gist.

I’ve Heard This Sermon Before (a.k.a. Familiarity)

You know the feeling. You’re sitting in church, the preacher says “Turn with me to John 3:16,” and somewhere deep inside you’re already packing up your spiritual appetite for the day. Been there. Heard that. Got the memory verse badge to prove it.

Familiarity is sneaky like that. It turns wonder into routine. It takes the breathtaking reality of the Gospel and makes it feel like background noise.

But for people like Farah, who once lived in darkness, grace isn’t an old song – it’s the anthem of their rescue:

“I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see.”

Paul’s words ring true for them in a way that feels freshly lived:

“But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ… that I may know him and the power of his resurrection.” (Philippians 3:7,10)

They know what it cost them to follow Jesus – family ties strained, friendships lost, sometimes even threats or danger. They’ve paid a price. And so their faith isn’t casual. It’s costly. They paid a price that makes familiarity a threat to the treasure they just received. They cannot afford to become familiar and they probably won’t.

Now, To What I’m Really Trying to Answer Here: Why Do Converts Grow So Quickly?

It’s a good question. And honestly, it’s one I’ve asked myself for years.

Why is it that people who meet Jesus later in life seem to run harder, hunger deeper, and grow faster? Why do they seem to catch fire while some of us, who’ve been sitting comfortably at the table for years, barely notice the bread has gone cold?

The answer isn’t complicated. It’s hunger.

When you’ve lived without truth, without peace, without hope when you’ve been searching and suddenly find the Living Water – you drink deeply. You feast. You treasure every crumb.

It’s like the woman at the well in John 4. One conversation with Jesus and her thirst for truth was satisfied. One encounter with Living Water, and she left her jar behind to run and tell everyone she had met the Messiah. When you’ve spent years drawing from dry wells, you don’t take it lightly when you finally find the Source.

That’s why they grow. They’ve tasted living water, and they won’t stop drinking.

They know what it’s like to be empty. So when they find fullness, they don’t hold back.

“As the deer pants for the water brooks, so pants my soul for You, O God.” (Psalm 42:1)

They don’t approach the Bible as a duty but as a feast laid before them. They don’t ask how little prayer is enough – they ask how near they can draw. Like Mary at Jesus’ feet, they understand that “only one thing is necessary.” (Luke 10:42)

Relationship Over Ritual

Let’s be honest. Ritual is easier. It gives us boxes to tick, routines to follow, and makes us feel like we’re doing something that counts. But relationship? That’s different. That’s vulnerable. That’s daily. That requires presence, honesty, and heart.

For people like Farah and so many others who come to Jesus from religions built on works and endless striving, relationship isn’t just a sweet idea. It’s a necessity. It’s oxygen.

Farah told me once, “Religion taught me to work harder. Jesus taught me to come closer.”

They’ve tasted the emptiness of ritual. They’ve known the ache of doing all the right things and still feeling far from God. So when they find relationship – real, living, breathing relationship with the One who loves them, they hold onto it fiercely.

Because rituals can’t satisfy a thirsty soul. But relationship? Oh, relationship fills it till it overflows

That’s the difference. Converts often understand from the start that Christianity isn’t a religion of ladders we climb; it’s a Person who came down to meet us where we are.

And because they’ve experienced empty ritual, they cling to relationship. They read of the woman who wept at Jesus’ feet and wiped them with her hair (Luke 7:36-50), and they don’t wonder how she could be so emotional – they understand.

They also take God at His Word. If He said, “By His stripes we are healed,” then to them, it’s settled. Does He have stripes? Yes. Then we are healed. Simple faith. Uncomplicated trust. They believe because He said it, and that’s enough.

The Antidote

When I listen to converts worship, I notice something else. They don’t sing from memory. They sing from experience. When they belt out,

“My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought: My sin, not in part but the whole, is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more – Praise the Lord, O my soul!”

They mean every word.

They’ve tasted freedom, and it shows.

Revelation 2 speaks to a church that did everything right… except remember love.

“But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first.” (Revelation 2:4)

The antidote? Remember. Return. Rekindle.

Whether we’ve known Jesus for days or decades, we can choose today to marvel again. To approach Scripture like it’s living bread. To pray as if God listens and responds, because He does. To sing like those who know what it means to be found, to be saved and to be loved by a good God!

Now, Remember

If you’ve walked with Christ for a while, this isn’t a rebuke. It’s a gentle reminder. We are all called to keep our hearts tender, our wonder fresh, our gratitude burning and to love God and this is possible because He first loved us (1 John 4:19)

“Return to your first love.” (Revelation 2:4)

Sometimes it takes watching someone like Farah to realize how easy it is to forget the beauty of what we’ve been given. You might not have a Farah like I did, so I hope this blogpost serves as your Farah.

We don’t have to live as if Jesus is familiar and ordinary. We can live like He’s still the Treasure in the field, worth selling everything to obtain (Matthew 13:44). We can sing again with new eyes and new hearts:

“Take the world, but give me Jesus, all its joys are but a name;
But His love abideth ever, through eternal years the same.”

May we all – those newly found and those long home never lose the wonder and reverence for Jesus.

May we never forget how precious Jesus truly is.

Dear Yahweh’s Delight,

If you’ve known Christ all your life, don’t envy the convert’s fire – learn from it.

Remember what you’ve been saved from.
Remember who you’ve been saved for.

And let your heart burn anew with wonder that you, too, get to call Him Father.

God delights in you.

Remember. Return. Rekindle.

Shalom!