The Discipleship Paradigm

Been thinking about the total package of following Jesus. including helping others walk with Him. What all does discipleship entail? What paradigm must I switch to in order to go from a weekend-only Christian to an everyday, on-fire follower of Jesus?

Here are a few short musings of mine on the various layers of living a passionate, sold-out life for Jesus:

The COST of Discipleship- following Jesus and helping others to do the same requires sacrifice of time, energy, and resources. And it’s much more serious that just that. Whether in life or in death, discipleship also costs you your life.

The JOY of Discipleship- following Jesus and helping others to do the same taps into a wellspring of soul-level blessing, allowing you and those you influence to experience ridiculous amounts of joy that can only come from God. As we grow in closeness with Jesus, we see our lives change from the inside out. As we help others grow, we have front-row seats to the work of God in the lives of those we are investing in!

The ACHE of Discipleship- The more time I have walked with Jesus, one thing consistently comes into clearer focus- my permanent need for a Savior. We must live in the tension of, on one hand, seeing God work in our hearts and change us, but on the other hand, seeing our sinful selves resist those very changes. From here until the grave, we wear an earthsuit that is soiled with sin. We are bent toward selfishness. As the Holy Spirit works in us, we will definitely see our character change. But until we are perfected on the day of His coming, we must live with the ache of following Jesus and helping others do the same IMPERFECTLY. We long for home, and we ache.

The TOOLS of Discipleship- In order to follow Jesus and to help others do the same, we must have love. Love for God, love for people, a love for God’s Word, and a love for prayer. These ingredients will open your eyes to God’s priorities.

The POWER for Discipleship- Galatians 2:20 shows us that the Christian is no longer on his own to try to live, but by the power of the Holy Spirit, Jesus lives THROUGH us! There is only One who can successfully live the Christian life, and that’s Christ Himself. Our feeble attempts are powerless and can lead to frustration for us and heartbreak for God. Pray and ask the Lord to live through you as you follow Him and help others do the same.

The PASSION of Discipleship- As we grow closer and closer with Christ, we can’t help but be involved in His work here on earth. Whether you are a pastor or a painter, a church planter or a chiropractor, we all are on a mission from God. The idea that we should leave ministry up to the professional clergy is ludicrous and lazy. We each are especially equipped with GIFTS and OPPORTUNITIES in order for us to reach the world for Jesus. Let the Holy Spirit take you where He wants you to be. Don’t be afraid. Passionately follow the footsteps of Christ!

God’s Emergency Room

PREFACE

I love Michael Card’s music – his integrity, his lyrics, his musicality. And I appreciate how his work is always grounded in hope. Nothing sugar coated, just an honest darkness-broken-by-Light truth that he conveys in every single song. I’m thinking just now of his “Joy in the Journey.”

i’ve been listening to that song since I was a teenager. It was a blessing then, but I hadn’t yet experienced the depth of what that song captures. I had to traverse the journey a ways first before I could truly appreciate the joy that can only come from Christ while we’re in the middle of hardship.

I’m thankful that we don’t just have a some-day sort of hope for the day that Christ returns and we go home to live with Him forever. The joy and assurance that come from knowing we’re secure in our relationship with our Heavenly Father here and now is meant to be a “foretaste of glory divine,” a constant reminder that we have been ransomed by the King of the Universe from the clutches of sin and hell.

Life is hard, and I’m not about to paint a rainbows-and-roses picture of life on earth. For me, compared to starving children in Ethiopia, to little girls home and abroad who are swept away by the sea of sex trafficking, to men who have been wrongfully imprisoned for most of their adult lives, to women who have been raped or abused by their husbands, compared to MOST PEOPLE around the world, I have lived a sheltered, safe, comfortable life. Our struggles in life are unique to us; the level of pain and heartache is relative. While my life’s hurts don’t compare to those of, say, Sarajevo’s cellist, whose beloved city was pummeled to pieces in the mid-90s, I have never experienced a civil war within my own country’s borders.

On the flip-side of the coin, no one else has experienced my particular brand of depression or grief. Countless people are immersed in severe clinical depression and grief over the loss of a loved one, but no one has lived through the exact same circumstances that I have.

While I write, I’m not trying to say “Oh, woe is me. See I what I went through.” While the cellist’s specific circumstances and mine are different, we can dig through the rubble of both our tragedies to find common ground, underlying pieces of evidence that God is good and that He is in control.

My life, in the grand scheme of things, is not that special. We’re not little “snowflakes,” entitled to special attention from everyone and anyone. But I write because my God is special, my God is holy, and my God seeks to draw men unto Himself. In every trial and tribulation I’ve been through, I’ve seen the hand of God at work. You see, this piece of writing isn’t about ME, it’s about the God of the Universe who desires that “none should perish, but that all should have eternal life.” While no one has sinned precisely just like me, the reasons for sin and the consequences of our selfish choices are quite similar.

 I’m a messed up guy in constant need of a Savior.

These anecdotes are not mine, but I’m merely a steward of them. They were especially coordinated, woven, and ordered by an all-powerful God who is, at the same time, loving, gracious, and good. I pray that as I share these episodes of my life, that I treat them with honesty, clarity, transparency, and humility. My hope is that you can see that through my life God’s love and work have been quite evident, and that in whatever it is you experience – now or down the road – this same God will be diligently at work. I want you to know that He loves you.

Thanks in advance for reading…

SELF-SUFFICIENT

Winnie the Pooh galoshes. Hated ‘em. They were bright, colorful, hard to get on, and they prevented a boy from being, well, a boy. Mom insisted that my brother and I wear our galoshes any time we went out in the rain and mud. This day was no different.

In a small section of our expansive back yard, we had an area with a swing set that we called “the play yard.” Perfect place to play in the dirt, to defy the limits of the swings, to enjoy our Tonka Trucks (to clear away any misunderstanding – it was I who buried all those dump trucks and dozers deep in the soil, just for fun. My brother was not even an accomplice in the case.) It was a place to just get lost in!

Well, we were goofing around in the play yard, yes, in our galoshes. The rain was intermittent, and the soil was soggy. I don’t remember, but for some reason, my brother went in the house. I was addicted to the play yard, and I want to goof around some more. Typical elementary school behavior.

After sliding and swinging and climbing some more, I found myself near the ladder of the slide. I paused for a moment before looking down. I couldn’t move my feet, galoshes and all. As the rain began to pour, I began to sink into the soft mud. I was completely stuck. Those shoe-enveloping rain boots wouldn’t budge.

Instead of calling for help, I fought and I fought with with the elements. Yet, for what seemed like an hour, I could not win. Did I yell for Mom or Dad to help me out? No. I felt like I had what it took to get me out of my jam. Definitely a matter of pride and especially self-sufficiency.

Finally, someone randomly came out of the house looking for me. I don’t recall who it was, but they found me in my sad, soggy state and helped free me and my Winnie the Pooh Galoshes from the muck and mire.

PRIDEFUL

When I was eight years old, I broke my femur on the first day of summer vacation, right after I was done with the 2nd grade. What an ordeal! Missed the Olympic Torch which was carried through my hometown, missed the yearly visiting carnival, missed hanging out with my friends and family. I was in traction for over a month, then a hideous body cast for over a month, and then in physical therapy for a few weeks before school started up again. However, one thing that I was thrilled about was the beginning of my nine-year soccer career at the end of that summer. I had gained a lot of weight, but I wanted to get some exercise and to be on a team, like my older brother.

At some point early in my soccer years, I recall asking one of my older sisters a very revealing question after a game. I know now that I was not a great player, but at that time I thought I was somethin’ else. After a game in which I thought I did particularly well, I asked my sister, “So, do you think I’m the best player out there?”

My ever-diplomatic and sensitive sister replied, “Well, I thought you did a very good job today.”  Even after pressing her to clarify her stance, she didn’t seem to have arrived at the same conclusion I had. I thought I was better than all the kids on my team, and I wanted to be acknowledged for it. I wanted to be valuable.

COMMON THREAD

Yes, I might appear to be hard on my younger self. I imagine most kids that age want to be affirmed and that they want to know they can do things on their own. I wasn’t at all unique in those ways. What I do want to draw out, though, is that I see these two issues – self-sufficiency and pride- as the common thread that was been a part of my whole life. They are a permanent part of my inner wiring, part of my earthsuit that I will wear until I go Home.

And, as I carefully dig through the story of mankind throughout the Bible, we have always leaned toward our default positions of pride and self-sufficiency. Look through the prophets of the Old Testament. Ezekiel passes on several rebuking message from God to the Israelites regarding these two ever-present issues. Not only do men and women of old demonstrate these glaring flaws, trace the trajectory of all of our lives and I bet you will find these two issues intertwined all throughout.

I know that all through my life I have thought higher of myself than I ought, and I have aimed to pull myself up by my own boot straps (or galoshes, take your pick).

While I can tell countless stories of how I have been prideful or self-sufficient all throughout my life, this isn’t the focus of this work. Paul the Apostle tells the church in Rome, “…but where sin abounded, grace did much more abound.” The deepest part of my story isn’t my sin, but the deepest part of me is the grace that saved me from that sin.

While we talk about sin and call it what it is, our gaze mustn’t stop there. We must see that forgiveness of sins is available because of the death of Someone who didn’t have any sin in His life at all. He died on my behalf in order to give me that deep grace.

Don’t Forget to Fly

Last night I went with several friends to see the high school production of Peter Pan. The students performed remarkably, and I found myself thoroughly entertained. The ending of Peter Pan, though, always bothers me a little bit.

At the end of the story, Wendy the “mother” to all the lost boys, ends up growing into an adult, marrying, and having a child of her own. Peter Pan, as promised, comes to visit years later to get Wendy to help with spring cleaning. Well, Wendy sates, “I have forgotten how to fly.” She simply cannot leave her life of responsibility to return to Neverland.

This is reminiscent of at least two other stories. I love the Chronicles of Narnia, but one melancholy moment that strikes me deeply is when the ever-so-logical Susan is no longer able to return to Narnia because she’s become so serious-minded, she can’t bring herself to believe in Aslan anymore. I am also reminded of the more recent Polar Express, where those who don’t believe in Santa cannot hear the jingling of the Christmas bell from Santa’s sleigh.

Where’s the balance? As a youth minister, I have the privilege of using my spiritual gift of goofiness to build bridges with young adults. I thoroughly enjoy laughing heartily, being silly, and subjecting myself to plenty of jokes and pranks. These things are a part of my joie de vivre, the joy of living.

Another part of my life, though, is the day-to-day responsibility. The bills, the meetings, sometimes having to wear a necktie, setting a good example, taking care of my health, etc. Peter Pan wouldn’t approve of many of these adult-level necessities.

Yet –
I still want to fly.
I still want to enter Narnia.
I still want to ride the Polar Express.

I am not about to abandon the things that I’ve committed to as an adult. I’m still working on making my “yes be yes, and my no be no.” However –

The other day I was speaking with a teenage friend of mine. She is an enthusiastic supporter of Compassion International, and is involved with a few international kids’ lives. She had recently received some new pictures of one of “her” children. We both noticed as we perused the photo was the lack of smiles on the faces in the picture. Many children and a few adults were at a birthday party. Not one person was smiling. Now, I would bet that before and after that camera flash flashed, most everyone was having an enjoyable time at the celebration. But some cultures (including American culture in previous generations), for some reason, do not think it’s necessary or proper to smile for a photo.

I don’t want my life to reflect these anti-smile photographic cultures. I don’t want to be so wrapped up in the seriousness of life that I forget to smile. Or laugh. Or fly.

Crossroads of Joy
That leads me to my goal, then. I have two goals that must, somehow, mesh. As I mentioned before, I won’t give up my adult responsibilities. That would be foolish. But I also do not want to trade in my smile for a scowl, my laugh for a grunt. Then I must look to constantly protect the culture of Brandon. What does that look like?

The Value of Humor
One of my business clients, a corporation that plans large-scale governmental and amateur sporting events, lists as one of their corporate values as “humor.” How refreshing is that?! They clearly take their business seriously, or else they would not have had the success they’ve enjoyed for a quarter of a century. But they haven’t forgotten to laugh. Or smile. Or, dare I say, “fly.”

As I approach my life, then, with all the meetings, bills, etc., I want to list as one of my values “humor.” I’m not talking about a superficial, fake laughter that comes at awkward moments. I’m not speaking of a pretend smile that is as detectable as generic macaroni and cheese (the stuff does not compare to Kraft!). I am talking about a genuine life, full of joy, laughter, smiles, and humor, infused by the joy that comes from a thankful heart. God is the giver of all good things, and when I’ve recognized His goodness toward me in small things and in big, I can’t help but smile.

I find myself
flying –
living in Narnia –
and believing in the giver of all good gifts.

Comfort for the Weary

I don’t know if there’s something particularly out of the ordinary about the last two months, but it sure seems like there has been a drastic increase in the number of people in my world who are hurting, sad, confused, or just plain overwhelmed.

*two people I know have attempted suicide (one of them has attempted multiple times)

*a young man I know was just arrested for selling drugs and is now on his way to prison for a
few years

*four students I know are wrestling with their belief in God, and are frustrated and confused

*a student I know lost a classmate to a freak accident on campus, and another classmate was
severely injured in the accident

*a man I know has been struggling to find work to support his family. At the same time, he has
been battling some major health issues, some possibly life-threatening

*a couple I know is going through a bitter divorce

*several marriages I know of are on the rocks

*a gentleman in the neighborhood is slowly killing himself through severe alcoholism

A strong dose of comfort seems to be in order for a lot of us. I have very little to offer from my own satchel of compassion to these hurting people. The one thing potent enough to truly heal a hurting heart is the comfort only God can give.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows.”
~2 Corinthians 1:3-5~

Thanks, Lord, for providing Your care and comfort to us in this dark, oft-discouraging world. Amen.

Chocolate Milk for “Ba”

Ottawa really only has one decent coffee shop, Jeremiah Joe’s.  Great place, wireless internet, pretty good drinks, and wonderful atmosphere for studying, socializing, or checking out the local musical talent on the weekends. 

 Over the course of the last handful of months, I couldn’t help but notice another regular at JJ’s. Although I’ve never seen him purchase a drink, I began observing the strange bahavior of an obese man, maybe in his early 40s, who was clearly mentally retarded.  His routine is simple – enter the shop, find an available chair as close to other patrons as possible, and repeat, parrot-like, “Hi,” until either they acknowledge his existence or just plain ignore him for an extended amount of time.  Even if he’s on the opposite end of the shop, if someone enters the front door, he’ll stare at them and persistently repeat his greeting from across the room.

Most people ignore him.  Others will offer a brief “hi” back.  A few younger people, mainly junior-high girls, actually are very pointed in their response to him: “Don’t sit here! Our friend is sitting in that seat! Go away!”  Except when there’s harshness, this visitor will continue saying “hi,” even if he got an earlier response.

Whenever I see this guy, my heart wants to break.  He doesn’t know the finer points of interpersonal communication.  But I get the distinct impression that he’s lonely. Very lonely.  I’ve watched him sit in Jeremiah Joe’s for hours on end, just wanting to get a reciprocated greeting from someone. 

I believe the Lord, a few weeks back, put a level of compassion in my heart for our coffee shop greeter.  One evening, while I was reading in a corner, he passed by and our eyes met.  With genuine interest, I asked him how he was doing.  He froze.  Perhaps no one had asked him that in a long time.  He looked at me with a puzzled look, and said, “Fine. But do you know me?” I explained that I had seen him there before, but that we had never met. 

So, I made it a point, whenever we happened to be in that downtown shop together, to look him in the eye and tell him “hi” back.  Occassionally I’ll ask him how his day is going.

Well, today was an interesting day at Jeremiah Joe’s.  I wanted to try to finish my book on the life of Peter.  Then in walked the man, in his usual disheveled clothes and untidy hair.  He made his way toward the customer service counter and found the nearest chair.  He planted himself there, and, as business started to pick up, so did the incessant output of “hi.”

This family of three – a mom, a dad, and a teenage girl – walked up to the counter to order their drinks.  They were not exempt from the barrage of greeting.  The mom even responded about four times to this guy, each time expressing a little less patience than before. Once the drinks were made and paid for, the family found an out-of-the-way cranny near the front of the shop.  Our unofficial greeter seemed to feel he had found some new friends.  He got up and slowly followed them to the narrow corner where they were seated.  The tension in the air was palpable.  He stood about five feet away from their table, saying, “hi.” He also began saying, “I’m a good boy, I’m a good boy.” I felt so sorry for this man, because he was oblivious to the discomfort this family was feeling.  He was just so focused on being with someone, that he didn’t notice how it made them feel. I also felt empathy for the family, too, because of how awkward the scene was.

A couple of times, the greeter walked away, only to return a few moments later.  During one of his return trips to the family’s table, I felt compelled to somehow intervene.  I had just read a passage in my book about how compassionate Peter and John were to the crippled man near the temple, in the book of Acts. Then, as I was observing the coffee shop scene unfold in front of me, I couldn’t help but think of Jesus’ teaching about taking care of “the least of these.”

As the greeter passed by me, our eyes met and I asked him how he was doing. “Fine.” I asked him, “Do you like to drink coffee?” He paused for a moment, and he mumbled, then said, “I like chocolate milk.” I then said, “You like saying ‘hi’ to people, don’t you?” “Yeah.” “Well, that’s great. Just be careful not to say it too many times, because it makes people feel really uncomfortable.” As he began walking back toward the family’s table, he looked back at me and said, “Okay.”

I decided I’d try to get to know him a little bit better, so he didn’t just feel like someone being a bother. I went to the front counter and ordered a large chocolate milk for my friend. As I came back to my table, he saw me carrying the chocolate milk, and he left the presence of the family and walked toward me.  I told him, “I bought a chocolate milk for you, if you’d like it. It’s right over here.” He came nearer, and I handed it to him. The puzzled look on his face returned.  Very sincerely he thanked me for the drink. He stood near my table, removed the lid to his drink, and began guzzling.  I felt bad for him as he dribbled on his crumpled, white tee-shirt.  I said, “Oh, there are some napkins right over there. You might want to wipe that up a little bit.” He zipped up his coat instead, and continued drinking, savoring the sweet drink.  I asked him what he usually did when he wasn’t at Jeremiah Joe’s, and all he said was, “Home.””Oh, so you live near here?” “Yeah. You?” “I live on the south side of town, over the bridge. By the way, what’s your name?” “Ba.” “Ba?” “Yeah, Ba.”  He then proceeded to thank me several more times for buying him the chocolate milk, and pronounced that it was good.  After a few more sips, he made his way over to the napkins, stood there drinking, then exited the shop without another word and without cleaning up his shirt.

A little while later, the family of three got up to leave.  As they passed by, the parents both thanked me for helping take care of the awkward situation, and for the kindness I showed Ba.  The dad told me, “You know, most people probably aren’t kind to him at all like that, so thank you.”

I think the reason why it wasn’t hard to take action today in talking with Ba was that I am in some ways a lot like him.  I can be naive, simple, and repetitive. And I sometimes let my loneliness dictate my actions.  I wish I knew more of Ba’s story – what his life has been like, who he lives with, if he knows about Jesus.

I know that Jesus’ compassion toward a sometimes emotionally and spiritually disheveled guy like me far surpasses the act of buying chocolate milk. I am so thankful for the Lord’s willingness to meet me where I’m at, although sometimes the best I can do is mumble. I’m grateful for His desire to be with me, although my inner self is a mess a lot of times. The kindness, goodness, and greatness of Jesus has given me the desire to love the people around me the best I know how.  Thanks, Lord, for the lesson I learned today in getting to know Ba.