Zeal, Knowledge, and the Nearness of God

I grew up in a Pentecostal church marked by deep zeal for the gospel, especially in evangelism. I remember the early Sunday mornings when we would rise early, gather our loudspeakers, and go to open-air spaces to proclaim Christ crucified. There was a hopeful urgency in our hearts—that perhaps one or two souls might hear and be saved, that someone passing by would be pierced by the message and follow us back to church.

And sometimes, by God’s mercy, it happened. We would hear testimonies of people who said they heard the preaching from afar and felt compelled to come that very day. Those moments felt like undeniable proof that God was at work among us.

Yet as I grew older, I began to notice a tension. The people were zealous—but often without knowledge. I would sit under preaching delivered “in the Spirit,” yet struggle to understand how the message held together. I would glance at visitors and wonder how they were making sense of what was being said, if I myself could not. What grieved me most was that when I asked sincere questions, seeking clarity, I was often dismissed. I was told that I had not “connected with the Spirit,” and therefore I could not understand.

But Scripture tells us that “God is not a God of confusion but of peace” (1 Corinthians 14:33). And again, “The unfolding of Your words gives light; it gives understanding to the simple” (Psalm 119:130). I longed for that light.

In my quiet times, I would read my Bible and try to reconcile what I saw in Scripture with what I experienced in the services. Some things aligned; many things left me with questions. Yet the Lord, who is in heaven and sees the paths of men, was kind to me. In His providence, He connected me with people who did not merely give me answers, but taught me how to read the Bible faithfully—in context, without forcing my own theological assumptions into the text.

Through them, I discovered commentaries, Bible-handling tools, and careful study. I grew spiritually, and I praised God for the companions He placed along my journey. The more I read, the more I saw how big God is—and how small I am. Like Job, I could say, “I had heard of You by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees You; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes” (Job 42:5–6). 

Yet, as with many good gifts, there came a subtle danger.

Over time, I noticed a shift in myself. I was growing in knowledge—not that I knew much, but enough to feel the difference. My prayer life changed. My Bible reading changed. My evangelism changed. My Christian life changed. I began to sense that I was becoming what one might call an “intellectual Christian.”

Understanding the sovereignty of God led me to rest, perhaps too comfortably in the thought that “what will be will be.” I reasoned that God is the One who saves, and that there was little I could do. After all, no argument of mine could bring a person to salvation, “it is the Spirit who gives life” (John 6:63). While this is very true, my heart slowly drifted from urgency to passivity, from dependence to detachment.

At The Bible Talks, we value faithful training. We attend Gospel Workshops, Simeon Trust workshops, and Training of Trainers at Johannesburg Bible College. We learn to handle Scripture carefully, to avoid heresy, and to ensure that we do not make the Bible say what it does not say. These are good and necessary things. Ezra himself “set his heart to study the Law of the LORD, and to do it and to teach His statutes and rules in Israel” (Ezra 7:10).

But as I reflected on all these technicalities, a deeper question confronted me: What was happening to my heart?

Were these truths merely shaping my competence, or were they shaping my affections? Were they deepening my love for God, or simply sharpening my Christian intellect? I found myself asking: Was I near to God, or merely useful to Him?

Scripture never separates knowledge from love. The apostle Paul warns us that “knowledge puffs up, but love builds up” (1 Corinthians 8:1). It is possible to be well-equipped for ministry and yet far from God. It is possible to serve faithfully and yet do so on autopilot—out of duty rather than delight. Actually, I often wonder if “well done, good and faithful servant” fits me.

This reflection came into sharper focus as we studied Psalm 73. Asaph begins that psalm, confused, embittered, and envious, his feet had almost slipped. But everything changes in the presence of God. By verses 23–28, his heart is completely changed.

“Nevertheless, I am continually with You;
You hold my right hand.
You guide me with Your counsel,
and afterward You will receive me to glory…
But for me, it is good to be near God.” (Psalm 73:23–28)

These words are quite powerful. “It is good to be near God.” Not impressive. Not productive. Not merely accurate. Near.

I began to pray again, not for better sermons or sharper skills but for a heart that serves from having a relationship, not an obligation. I asked God to guard me from becoming a Christian on duty and instead make me a Christian in love. Only a full cup can pour out. Nearness to God is cultivated through prayerful dependence, through intentional time in His presence, through Scripture reading, not only for ministry, but for communion or fellowship with him.

As the psalmist says, “One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD” (Psalm 27:4).

May our zeal be informed by knowledge. May our knowledge be warmed by love. And may all our service flow from hearts that can truly say: “But for me, it is good to be near God.”