In music, there's a phenomenon called arrested development — a guitarist who plays the same four chords he learned in college, decade after decade, mistaking familiarity for mastery. The writer of Hebrews stops his argument in mid-sentence and confronts his audience: you should be further along than you are. He has much to say about Melchizedek, but they've become dull of hearing — and that verb "become" is crucial. This isn't a condition they were born with. It's one they developed. By this time they ought to be teachers. Instead they need the ABCs again. Milk drinkers. Infants. The passage's most practical claim is that discernment is trained, not received — the word behind "trained" is the root of "gymnasium." The powers of perception that distinguish good from evil are developed through constant practice, daily reps, repeated engagement with truth. The capacity is still there. Start chewing.
