What a Pest Control Salesman Taught Me About Spiritual Formation
Learning to measure Christlikeness in ordinary, unfiltered moments
A few weeks ago,
published a theologically rich and provocative critique titled Assessing Spiritual Growth? A Critique.His concern wasn’t just about metrics in the abstract, but about the subtle temptation to make spiritual growth measurable in a way that shifts our gaze away from Christ and toward ourselves.
Drawing from the Reformed tradition—and particularly the insights of Jonathan Edwards—Strobel warns that we’re often the last ones to recognize spiritual growth in ourselves. The deeper danger, he writes, is that in trying to locate ourselves on a spectrum of progress, we may end up trading faith for flesh—mistaking natural virtue for supernatural formation.
When assessment becomes a mirror, we risk reducing spiritual disciplines to self-help strategies with a divine cherry on top, rather than expressions of grace-empowered transformation.
I resonated. Mostly.
I even wrote a short response note you can read here. But something about it kept turning over in me. And this afternoon, while out on a run, something crystallized.
This article is that crystallization.
Because while I agree with Kyle for the most part, I do believe there is a way to assess spiritual growth. Not with performance charts or attendance streaks. But with one simple question:
What comes out of you when life surprises you?
Not when you’ve prepped and curated yourself for church. But when someone cuts you off in traffic. When your toddler has a meltdown in the Trader Joe’s parking lot. When an aggressive pest control salesman rings your doorbell and refuses to take no for an answer.
Formation Has a Telos
Spiritual formation isn’t random. It has a goal. A telos.
Scott McKnight calls that goal Christoformity—becoming like Christ in thought, emotion, and action. The Apostle Paul gives us a helpful portrait in his list of the fruit of the Spirit:
Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. (Galatians 5)
This is the aim. This is what we’re being formed into. So if we want to assess whether formation is happening, it makes sense to ask: Am I becoming this kind of person?
And not just on stage or on Sunday. But in ordinary, surprising, unrehearsed moments.
Which brings me to the pest control guy.
A Bug Guy Rang My Doorbell
He was the kind of salesman trained to never take “no” for an answer.
He rang the bell, dropped a few neighbor names, and launched into his pitch. Even though I’d said no, he circled back around—trying to isolate the objection, figure out if it was price, skepticism, or apathy. Then he tried to address it. It was smooth. Rehearsed. Persistent.
That evening, our HOA Facebook group blew up.
“Bug guy alert. Aggressive. Do not engage.”
“I chased him off like a bad bug.”
“I had to shut the door on his face.”
“I can’t stand them.”
Sarcastic memes followed. One neighbor even posted a blurry Ring cam photo with the caption, “Neighborhood threat level: Medium.”
I laughed. But something in me also winced.
Because I realized how easily I’d joined the chorus of annoyance. Not with love. Not with gentleness. Not with kindness. But with subtle contempt. I hadn’t bought his service—but I hadn’t seen his humanity either.
And that’s when the framework came to me. Four stages of spiritual formation—told through how one responds to a pest control salesman.
Inspired by C.S. Lewis’s essay Talking About Bicycles, where he maps out four emotional stages (un-enchantment, enchantment, disenchantment and re-enchantment), I’d like to offer my own version, framed around spiritual maturity and the people who knock on our doors.
Stage 1: The Non-Homeowner — Oblivious and Unformed
This is spiritual childhood.
You don’t answer the door. You don’t know who the pest control salesman is or why he’s here. He’s just part of the adult world. Your parents deal with it. You go back to Bluey.
You’re not spiritually mature—you’re just innocent.
There’s no virtue here yet. But also no vice.
Stage 2: The First-Time Homeowner — Enthusiastic but Easily Persuaded
This was me as a brand-new homeowner.
I didn’t know how to spot the pitch. I didn’t know the tactics—how they’re trained to isolate objections and keep the conversation going until your polite reluctance becomes reluctant agreement.
I responded to his questions. He dismantled my doubts. Thirty minutes later, I was signing up for quarterly sprays I didn’t need.
I wasn’t discerning. I wasn’t mean. I was just soft clay.
This is Peter in the Gospels—passionate, well-meaning, but brash and easily swayed. Cutting off ears one minute. Denying Jesus the next.
At this stage, you’re eager to follow Jesus—but you still lack wisdom. Your love hasn’t yet been tempered by truth.
Stage 3: The Hardened Homeowner — Jaded, Suspicious, and Unkind
This is where I’ve been lately.
I’ve lived in my second home for a few years now. I know the knock. I know the clipboard. I know the pitch. And frankly, I don’t even see them as people—I see them as pests.
This week, when the salesman rang my doorbell, I was rude. Not because I was busy. But because I couldn’t be bothered. I rolled my eyes. I avoided eye contact. I contributed to the sarcasm online.
I didn’t fall for the pitch—but I failed the formation test.
Because the shadow side of maturity is defensiveness. We grow wise to the world, but cold to the people in it. We learn to protect ourselves, but forget how to extend grace.
We forget that Jesus not only avoided traps—he also looked people in the eye. He saw them.
Stage 4: The Renovated Heart — Discerning and Christlike
This is the stage I long for.
Where you’re not manipulated—but neither are you dismissive.
Where you can say “no” firmly and kindly. Where you can offer a cold cup of water or a word of encouragement without signing a contract.
Where you see the young man in front of you—not just his tactics, but his story.
You see that he’s learning grit. Rejection. Emotional intelligence. Odds are, he won’t be in this job forever. But the skills he’s picking up will shape his future. Maybe he’s training for something bigger. Maybe he’s just trying to make rent.
Either way, you respond not with fear or frustration—but with gentleness.
Not niceness. Not people-pleasing.
But Christlikeness.
That’s spiritual maturity.
So… Can Spiritual Growth Be Measured?
Dallas Willard once warned John Ortberg: Don’t create metrics where the Pharisees win.
And that’s the tension, isn’t it?
We want to track growth—but we don’t want to become self-righteous accountants of our own holiness.
Still, I believe there is a way to assess formation. And it comes down to two things:
1. Personal Reflection
This is where the daily Examen helps. Ask:
When today was I most like Christ? When was I least?
What triggered desolation in me? What contributed to consolation?
It’s not about perfection. It’s about awareness.
2. Communal Discernment
Ask your spouse. Your small group. Your kids.
Not “Am I holy?”
But “Have I been more patient lately? Kinder? More self-controlled?”
Not everyone will notice—but someone will.
Closing Thought
Spiritual formation doesn’t show up in your journal margins. It shows up in your reactions.
In the grocery line. On the freeway. At the front door.
It shows up in how you respond to the unexpected, the unwanted, and the uninvited.
So if you want a snapshot of your formation journey, don’t look at your Bible reading plan.
Look at how you treated the bug guy.
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