The Patience of God

Pastor Mike Fitzpatrick | April 12, 2026

I am a slow learner.

I’ve come to accept that about myself over the years. Any other slow learners out there? Some of you probably aren’t raising your hand because you’re still figuring out how this works—and that’s okay. We’ve got time.

When I was a kid, my family decided it was time for me to learn how to ride a bike. I was… let’s just say a little older than most kids when they learn. All my friends were riding those cool bikes with banana seats and upright handlebars, and I was still cruising around on a Green Machine. It was awesome—until it wasn’t.

So my parents and my older brother took on the task of teaching me. What they didn’t realize is that this wasn’t going to take a couple days. It took weeks. It took the whole neighborhood. It took a lot of running, a lot of encouragement, and unfortunately, a lot of near-collisions with mailboxes.

My dad even tried to motivate me: “If you learn to ride before your birthday, I’ll get you a new bike.” That didn’t help much at first. But the day before my birthday, something clicked. I went out by myself, rode down to the neighbor’s house, and came back.

Mission accomplished.

Looking back, I’m incredibly grateful—not just that I learned to ride a bike, but that my family was patient with me. They didn’t give up, even when I was taking way longer than expected.

Fast forward a few years, and I had a very different experience.

I was playing basketball and loved it. I wasn’t going pro or anything, but I enjoyed the game. Then we got a new coach—let’s call him Coach Smith. He was intense. Demanding. The kind of coach who stayed silent when you did things right but made sure everyone knew when you messed up.

And at 15 years old, that kind of environment crushed me.

I wasn’t playing for a scholarship. I was playing because I loved the game. But the constant criticism, the lack of patience—it took the joy out of it. Eventually, I quit. And I never really went back.

That experience stuck with me. And it raises an important question:

When you think about God, which picture comes to mind?

Is He like my parents—patient, encouraging, willing to walk with you as you figure things out?
Or is He more like Coach Smith—waiting for you to mess up so He can call you out?

That question matters more than we might realize.

In Luke 24, we find the disciples in a moment that should have been filled with clarity—but instead, it’s full of confusion. Jesus had told them He would die and rise again. The Scriptures pointed to it. Eyewitnesses had reported the empty tomb.

And then—Jesus shows up.

Right there. In front of them.

And what do they do?

They’re startled. Frightened. They think they’re seeing a ghost.

Now, if I’m being honest, part of me wants to read that and say, “Come on, guys. How are you not getting this?” But the truth is, if I had been there, I probably would’ve reacted the exact same way.

Dead people don’t come back to life. That’s not something you just process easily.

What’s remarkable isn’t their confusion—it’s Jesus’ response.

He doesn’t scold them. He doesn’t walk out in frustration. He doesn’t say, “I need a new group of disciples.”

He meets them in their doubt.

“Why are you troubled?” He asks. “Why do doubts rise in your minds? Look at my hands and my feet. Touch me and see.”

He even asks for something to eat—and eats it in front of them. Why? Because ghosts don’t eat. He’s patiently, graciously helping them understand what feels impossible.

And even then… they’re still slow to get it.

But Jesus doesn’t give up.

That’s the heart of this story—and honestly, the heart of the entire Bible.

From the very beginning, Scripture tells the story of a patient God dealing with slow-learning people. Adam and Eve had everything—and still chose their own way. Abraham doubted. Israel wandered. Judges failed. Kings rose and fell. Over and over again, God’s people got it wrong.

And over and over again, God remained patient.

He didn’t walk away. He didn’t change His mind. He stayed faithful.

And ultimately, when we couldn’t fix what was broken, He sent Jesus.

That’s who God is.

Which means this: God’s capacity for patience is far greater than your capacity to mess things up.

Let that sink in for a moment.

Because most of us don’t actually live like that’s true.

We know it in our heads, but in our daily lives? We still struggle to trust Him. We still go back to the same patterns. We still carry stress, guilt, and shame that He’s already invited us to release.

We’re not that different from the disciples.

We are slow learners, too.

But here’s the good news: God is just as patient with us as He was with them.

When you don’t understand—He’s patient.
When you ignore Him—He’s patient.
When you fail again—He’s patient.
When His promises bounce off your ears instead of settling into your heart—He’s still patient.

That doesn’t mean sin doesn’t matter. It does. We’re called to grow, to repent, to become more like Christ.

But even our repentance is fueled by His patience.

There’s a powerful tension many of us live with, though. I like to think of it as two “bars,” like in pole vaulting.

One bar is God’s. It represents what He is willing to forgive, the patience He extends. And that bar? It’s high—higher than we can imagine.

But then there’s the second bar: ours.

This is the standard we set for ourselves. And somehow, we often set it higher than God’s.

We think, “I know God forgives me, but I can’t forgive myself.”
“I should be further along by now.”
“I shouldn’t still struggle with this.”

And we end up living in defeat—not because God has rejected us, but because we’ve refused to accept His grace.

The apostle Paul wrestled with this too. In Romans 7, he talks about doing the things he doesn’t want to do and failing to do the things he knows he should. It’s a frustrating, exhausting cycle.

But he doesn’t stay there.

“Who will rescue me?” he asks.

“Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

That’s the answer. Not trying harder. Not setting a higher bar. But trusting in what Jesus has already done.

So what does this look like in real life?

First, it means learning to be patient with yourself.

Not making excuses. Not lowering the call to holiness. But recognizing that growth takes time—and that God isn’t surprised by your process.

Second, it means being patient with others.

You don’t know their story. You don’t know what they’re carrying, what they’ve been through, or where they are in their journey.

It’s easy to assume we’re ahead. But sometimes, like in that story of the speed skater who lapped everyone, things aren’t what they seem.

The people we’re tempted to judge might actually be further along than we think.

So we extend grace.

Because that’s what God has done for us.

Following Jesus isn’t always easy. Some days are full of faith. Others are full of doubt. Some days obedience feels natural. Other days it feels nearly impossible.

But in all of it—every high and every low—God remains who He is.

Patient. Faithful. Steady.

So wherever you find yourself today, take heart.

You may be a slow learner.

But you are deeply loved by a very patient God.