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Part 7 of 8
Human-ology Series
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We're in a series exploring a branch of systematic theology called Christology—but with a focus on the humanity of Jesus rather than his divinity. The Christian claim is simple: Jesus was 100% God and 100% man. God became human not to show humans how to become gods, but to show humans how to be human as God intended. This isn't a series on humanism, but on humanology.
You will not be able to properly experience deep spiritual formation if you don't effectively manage relational frustration.
Relational frustration is a result of the accumulation of irritation, miscommunication, unmet expectations, and underappreciation. It is a normal human reality that the enemy wants to weaponize so that we are turned up, set off, and crashed out in a way that undermines our influence, compromises our credibility, and plunders our peace.
If the enemy can get you to mismanage the impact of what people do to you, he can undermine the impact of what God wants to do in you. God's goal is not just to fix us—it is to form us. God's desire isn't simple behavior modification; it is spiritual transformation.
Modification changes something. Transformation changes everything. It is the process by which God cultivates Christlikeness in our character, conduct, and capacity. It is a godly glow-up, a kingdom come-up that enables us to become someone we could not become before, to behave in ways we could not behave before, and to behold things we could not behold before.
Spiritual formation doesn't just make things better—it makes things new. Why would you settle for better when new is available?
When they came to a crowd, a man approached Jesus and knelt before him. "Lord have mercy on my son," he said. "He has seizures and is suffering greatly. He falls into the fire or into the water. I brought him to your disciples, but they could not heal him." Jesus replied, "You unbelieving and perverse generation. How long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy here to me." And Jesus rebuked the demon and it came out of the boy and he was healed at that moment.
The clause of concern is verse 17: "You unbelieving and perverse generation, how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you?"
This is your Jesus—the lily of the valley, the bright and morning star—expressing relational frustration. I'm tired of y'all.
Matthew begins this passage by noting that Jesus took Peter, James, and John up to a high mountain by themselves—the mount of transfiguration. Jesus had twelve disciples, but he took only three to this elevated place. These three became known as the inner circle.
Transfiguration doesn't mean Jesus became somebody else. It means he disclosed what he already was that other people didn't get to see. When he reached an elevated place, he revealed an aspect of his existence that couldn't be seen at a lower place.
There is a version of you that people would be exposed to if they would stop talking so low, thinking so low, and behaving so low. They cause you to shrink down to the level of their dysfunction instead of elevating you up to a revelation of all that is inside you. There is more to me than you see.
Jesus models relational intelligence: he knows who to take where. The principle is this:
People should be loved equally, treated justly, but positioned strategically.
We often experience relational frustration not because of people's performance, but because of our positioning. The problem isn't who they are—they've always been who they are. The problem is where we put them based on who we wanted them to be.
Some people can handle you on the mountain, but they can't handle the garden. Others can handle the garden but get intimidated and jealous when you're on the mountain. They liked the compartmentalized version of you, the shrunken version, the insecure version. But when you disclose all of who you are, now you being who you've always been becomes an issue.
When Jesus and the three disciples descend from the mountain, they encounter a frustrated father whose son has seizures. The father senses the source is spiritual, so he takes his son to Jesus's disciples—all nine of them.
The father makes an important assumption: he assumes that because they were with Jesus, they were like Jesus. He didn't realize that some people are with Jesus because of admiration, not emulation. They want to be with him for who he is, but they don't want to become like him.
Nine disciples with eighteen hands between them were unable to successfully heal one sick boy.
This is crucial: Jesus didn't fail the man. But the disciples' failure became Jesus's responsibility.
This is what leadership looks like. For everyone praying for promotion, increase, influence, and God to multiply their work: You need to be ready for taking responsibility for somebody else's irresponsibility or incompetence. You need to be ready for being the object of frustration when it comes to something you didn't even personally fail at. You need to be ready to do more work because they didn't work right.
Jesus doesn't respond to the father. Instead, he looks at the disciples and speaks to them.
When Jesus says, "You unbelieving and perverse generation. How long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you?" he is expressing real frustration.
This is not unrealistic expectations. Jesus is a perfect person with perfect expectations. Yet he had people in his relational life who caused him relational frustration. What makes us think as imperfect people with imperfect picking that we would be exempt from this?
Here's the reality: There's going to be something wrong with the right pick.
Even when you pick the right wife, the right husband, the right employee, the right church—there's going to be something wrong with the right pick. And when Christians aren't discipled on how to properly respond to relational frustration, they think something is unusual about the frustration itself. They try to outgrow the frustration instead of learning how to handle the inevitability that something will be wrong with the right people.
My spiritual formation does not exempt me from relational frustration. My spiritual formation equips me to handle my frustration the way Jesus handled his.
In chapter 10 of Matthew, Jesus called his twelve disciples and gave them authority to drive out impure spirits and heal. All twelve received authority—divine authorization, delegated power to act on behalf of another.
So by chapter 17, seven chapters later, Jesus is frustrated because he is saying: "I gave you the authority to be able to do this. Now here we are, and not one of you could do it."
When Jesus calls them "unbelieving," he may mean one of two things:
Missing faith: They sat and nodded while Jesus taught, but they had no intention of ever putting into practice what he was teaching. They heard what they never chose to believe.
Misplaced faith: The word Jesus uses is exousia—authorization, like a police badge. This isn't about their personal ability (dynamis). When you try to do this, you focus more on your ability than on his name. That evil spirit doesn't respond to your talent, your degree, or your work. It responds to his name. Misplaced faith says, "This works because of my work," when it actually works because of his name.
When Jesus calls them "perverse," don't impose contemporary meanings onto biblical words. The word means twisted, distorted, or misaligned. He's not saying they're bad; he's saying they're bent. "The problem isn't my training. You twisted it. There's something in you so twisted that it's making my training not take."
Jesus perceives a pattern that is wearing on his patience: what you experience repeatedly, you get tired of eventually.
The problem isn't the single incident. The problem is the pattern. Frustration is often a result of failed expectations—you found something you didn't expect, or you didn't find something you did expect.
Undisciplined, unloving, irresponsible emotional expression that values getting a release over a resolution. "I'll say whatever makes me feel better, even if it makes you worse." An attitude of entitlement says: "If you didn't do what you did to me, you wouldn't deserve what I'm doing to you."
This way leads to wounds.
Silent, surface-level, spiritually disguised avoidance. It's passivity dressed up as peace. You know there's an issue, but when you try to address it, you get religious rhetoric and church colloquialism: "Everything's fine. Praise the Lord. God bless. Jesus is good. Blessed and highly favored."
This is not the peace Jesus came to give. Jesus said, "My peace I bring to you, not peace like the world gives." His peace is a fruit of the Spirit, available only when you have his Spirit. His peace isn't fragile—it doesn't avoid conflict. The only way to it is through a tunnel called truth.
When Jesus said, "I did not come to bring peace. I came to bring a sword," he wasn't talking about the peace he came to give. He was talking about this inferior, fragile cultural peace that operates in avoidance of conflict.
Suppression leads to the accumulation of resentment. First way wounds them; second way wounds you. There is no articulation of how this has impacted you, practically and emotionally. Over time, resentment accumulates. Eventually, when it comes out, it comes out in the first way.
This way leads to resentment.
Kind, considerate, candid communication of what you're facing, what you feel, and what you'd like fixed.
This is what I'm facing because of what you did. I came down from the mountain and now I got to do more work because you didn't. This is what I'm facing. This is how I feel. How long do I have to stay with you? How long do I have to put up with you? And what you want fixed? Bring the boy to me.
Not just what I'm facing—what I'm feeling. I need you to understand the emotional impact your irresponsibility had on me. Now I'm questioning things about me I wouldn't dare question. Now I'm struggling in areas that I wasn't struggling.
Be glad that you hurt my feelings. Be glad that I care enough about your opinion that it carries weight. When your words don't hurt, it means I no longer care what you think.
Jesus was direct enough to cut through the confusion, but restrained enough not to cut the person down. He speaks truth, but he doesn't weaponize it. His truth is held inside a commitment to the person's redemption. He's not trying to release his frustration; he's trying to reveal something to the person. He's not trying to make them sad; he's trying to make them clear.
Jesus says "faithless and perverse"—but notice, he didn't say "faithless and perverse people." He said "faithless and perverse generation." He identified what's influencing them: "Your issue is you're being influenced by an age and an era that has shaped you into unbelief and perversity. The problem is what's influencing you."
Now both people get to attack the problem instead of people attacking each other. The enemy wants us to make people the problem so you attack the person instead of the problem.
After Jesus rebukes the disciples in verse 17, they come to him privately in verse 19 and ask, "Why couldn't we cast it out?" Jesus responds, "You have little faith. If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can move mountains."
He explains faith to them—they're probably thinking about the size of their faith instead of the strength of their faith. It's not size; it's strength.
When they come to him, he didn't say, "I'm done with you. I'm tired of you. I'm not going to teach you anymore." He discerned that they were worth investing in.
Leaders: You're going to make investments—lessons, exposure, schools, conversations—and sometimes you're going to see harvest that's not consistent with the seed you planted. The question is: Are you going to allow disappointment to cause you to disengage?
Disappointment is an emotion. Disengagement is a decision. It doesn't mean you don't allow repeated patterns to inform you so that you don't continue to make unwise investments. But the initial reaction shouldn't be driven by emotion.
Your investment shouldn't be tied to an outcome. It should be tied to your commitment to give the same generosity God gave to you.
John Maxwell said something I live by: "The only thing worse than developing people and they leave is not developing them and they stay."
Someday you'll walk into a job you're grateful for. You may not say it verbally, but in your soul, you're going to look around and think, "I'm tired of y'all." You'll walk into the room of children you prayed for and say, "I love you more than anything on this earth. I got a revelation of the Father's love when you came into my life. But I'm so tired of telling y'all to clean up this room."
If Jesus dealt with relational frustration, it means all relational frustration isn't a result of immaturity. Some of it is just humanity. It is inevitable. I want to free you from the illusion that you're going to live life without it.
There's something wrong with the right pick. May the actions of Jesus be a picture of possibility for you and me. Be clear, but don't be cruel. Make the issue the enemy, not the individual. Don't allow disappointment to stop development.
You're worth investing in. And let's be honest: you're not just frustrated with some people. Some people are frustrated with you, too.
You can't do anything I just taught without God's power. These are godly principles, but you can't live godly principles without God's power.
May he cause his face of favor to shine upon you. May he be gracious to you. May he protect you. May he provide for you. And above all else, may he grant you peace. This is my prayer for your life in Jesus's name. Amen.
