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.

Stay Hungry, My Friends…

Our church is putting together a cookbook, a compilation of our congregation’s favorite recipes. The lady who is spearheading this project asked me if I would be willing to edit the 100-page book. I gladly accepted.

Last night I began the process of digging through every word, every sentence, every recipe to ensure proper spelling, grammar, and consistent formatting. Along the way, I noticed something peculiar- my stomach was growling and my mouth was watering!

As I examined recipes for bacon-wrapped water chestnuts, bread pudding, baked oatmeal, stuffed mushrooms, and crock pot Italian beef, I realized that I was becoming quite hungry for the meals I was reading about!

What else am I hungry for? I think we all tend to crave the things we focus on. The motorcycle I bought two years ago? That came from dwelling on and thinking non-stop about being free to fly down the road on two wheels, letting the wind blow through my hair. The Mac that I’m sitting at at this very moment? As I began my freelance business, I had a constant gaze toward getting the proper equipment equal to the task of writing, editing, and voice recording.

I’ve noticed I’m this way with both good things and not-so-good things. I am a nervous eater, so if I am stressed to the max, I find myself chowing down on larger-than-normal quantities of unhealthy food. It takes a supernatural act to pull me away from my bent toward food satisfaction. Really, I bet any of our sins fall in the same category – we think it, we want it, we drive toward it, we fight ’til we get it, hoping it makes us feel better about life.

A few weeks ago a gal from church returned home from college for a weekend visit. She had told me months before that this was a particularly tough semester. A terrible accident had happened to two of her fellow students. A young man and woman were sitting under a tree, perhaps near a lake (I don’t remember). But a large tree fell, in a freak accident, hitting both of them. One of the students was killed, the other critically injured. My friend told me that the weight of the accident has been hard to shake, even months after it happened.

However, when she came home for a weekend, I saw a renewed focus on her part. Previously she stated she was really struggling, that she had a tough time making sense of everything. But the weekend she was home, she spoke with a resiliency that only comes from a healing heart, a healing heart that can only come from the touch of the Master Physician. She mentioned a verse from the Bible a handful of times, and it has been lingering in my mind since she’s gone back to college:

Hebrews 12:2 – “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”

My friend had a lot of things she could have been fixing her eyes on. Heartache. Faltering faith. Sadness. Confusion. But the Lord had given her a refreshed, renewed set of eyes to see life through. Her words she spoke with were infused with hope, with joy, with passion, and with purpose. She didn’t suddenly become oblivious to the terrible accident that happened earlier in the semester. But she chose to change her paradigm, her perspective. As she’s been fixing her gaze on Christ, she’s been given the ability to heal, to make sense of things, to have the courage to move forward. Kudos to her! I have a lot to learn from her experience…

Jesus Christ mentioned those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, that they’d be filled. While a tasty helping of “Aunt Suzy’s Potato Salad,” or pumpkin bars might make my mouth happy for a short time, I want to become more aware of what will satisfy my soul, the deepest longings of my life. The King of the Universe, seated on the throne, awaits to fill every need.

Stay hungry, my friends….

Legacy of Despair

My mother was quite adept at her use of the English language – her vocabulary was impressive, her grammar impeccable, and her writing engaging. Although she did graduate from high school, her depth of learning came from her own initiative. She was largely self-taught when it came to language arts.

She was also a lifelong musician, having played the piano from the time she was five until her death at 57. During her younger years, she was also quite the vocallist. Both areas of music garnered her quite a bit of success and potential collegiate attention, though she never attended due to circumstances out of her control. Our family certainly benefited, enjoyed, and to varying degrees carried on her musical legacy.

I happened upon an old poem she had written, probably at least 30 years ago. She’s been gone now for almost 16 years, but I’m thankful to have bits and pieces of her legacy, including her music and writing. Her poem, though, deeply troubles me. I think my mom battled with depression most of her life, and this poem, entitled “Despair,” is suffused with hopelessness.

From my understanding, most types of depression are not hereditary, except for maybe manic depression or bi-polar. But what is handed down through generations are ways in which we handle the stressors in our lives. I know my mom withdrew when she was under stress. So do I. She had a fiery temper which flared when she was under stress. Until I was about 20, so did I. When things got significantly difficult for my mom, she had an escapist mentality – she had things that she clung to beyond moderation to try to take the edge off of stress. I’ve seen that trend in my own life. Bottom line – I appreciate the legacy she left behind, her writing, her musicality. But she, in part, helped pass on to me a less-than-ideal way of handling small and big stresses.

I am not saying that she is to blame for my severe depression that I’ve been climbing out of for the last 11 months. However, I believe I have followed the model she set for me in handling tough stuff for the majority of my childhood and adult life.

Reading my mom’s poem is a renewed wake-up call for me. How did I used to cope with stress? How do I handle it now, now that I’m aware of my depression, now that I am aware of what triggers my knee-jerk reactions to stress? Am I making progress?

I want to encourage each of us to take inventory of what we do under pressure, under stress, in the midst of difficulties. Write down all the habits and thought patterns that you revert to by default. Examine them each carefully and determine whether they are healthy and helpful. If not, talk the list over with someone you trust. Ask them for advice and accountability in trying to overcome those things. Pray and ask for God’s supernatural help, that He’d transform those stress reactions. Replace any of those negative stress reactions with productive, positive things. Learn to talk through your frustrations with people in constructive ways. Discover new hobbies. Take a daily walk. Whatever it takes to turn the tide on detrimental behaviors related to stress.

Here is a copy of my mom’s poem. While it’s well written, it’s sad, melancholy. Enjoy and appreciate her words in an artistic sense, as I do. More importantly, let her poem be a compelling reminder of how stress can suck the joy out of life. Conversely, if stress is handled properly, we open ourselves up to many avenues of joy we otherwise would have missed out on.

Despair

Oh, for the gift of tongues
That I might speak of that
Which is hidden in the
Deep, dark corners of my mind!

I have struggled -in vain-
To plumb the depths of my very soul
To find some breath of reality –
Just some hint of meaning.

Long have I probed
With cold, cruel fingers –
Trying to penetrate the
Very core of my feeblemindedness.

But look! See there?!
A small glimmer of light!
The light of truth, and
The reason for these truths:

The reason for death and destruction –
Hatred and cruelty; the reason for
Sorrow and pain, agony and heartache;
The reason for living.

It is the light of hope!
Hope for your world -and mine
And for all the worlds to come –
And ————the light of love!

Oh, no! ——–Please, no! It’s gone!
The light is gone! And now,
Now, truth, reason and love
Shall remain unrevealed—

Locked up in this —- this
Damnable dungeon —
Buried in this grey, cold
Lump of clay —
To lie there —
Meaningless —-
Forever!

~Bette Miller~

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.

The Presence of Pain

My heart is aching this week. One calamity after another has bombarded me.

Found out that a good friend of mine from high school – a model student, upstanding citizen, infectious laugh – has had a tumultuous 17 years since graduating. He married a wonderful gal, had a couple of children, had a great career. One day while riding his mountain bike, he wrecked and hit his head. This injury helped precipitate the onset of multiple personality disorder.

Over the course of a couple of years, he developed at least five distinct personalities, all warring within his brain. He ended up leaving his wife and children, and has been roaming the streets as a homeless man on the east coast for quite some time. He has no desire to receive treatment, and does not want to come home. He is content to wander and remain within his confusion and pain.

Also this week I found out that a friend of mine from the midwest passed away from cancer. She was the mom of one of the kids I knew from youth group. Wonderful, godly family. She was only six years older than me, and her cancer spread rapidly. I ache for her husband and their children.

On top of that, about 80 coworkers will be losing their jobs sometime within the next few days (possibly me, too) due to corporate downsizing. I don’t have as much at stake as many of the others do. Of course I have bills and a dog to feed and rent to pay, but there are so many single mothers who are extremely nervous about their possible fate. The morale at work is at basement level, and I’m eager to be done with the waiting game.

The common thread passing through each of these experiences is the presence of pain. Pain, while unpleasant, is a vital part to being alive. I’m currently going through Philip Yancey’s book, Where is God When it Hurts. Thus far he points out the physical necessity of pain, how we absolutely must feel pain in order to protect ourselves, to know that danger is imminent. He gave an example of a basketball player whose ankle had been broken while playing an important game. He was the star. Instead of calling it quits while the game was on the line, he went to the locker room and received treatment. He received a shot that completely wiped out any pain that he might feel. He returned to the court and played a bit, but when he came down hard from jumping for a rebound, he landed awkwardly on his ankle, and an echoing “CRACK” was heard throughout the arena. He could not continue to play. His ankle bones disintegrated on impact. The lack of pain caused him to be careless, to think that everything was okay.

While I don’t wish my pain on anybody – the pain of childhood abuse, the pain of losing a parent, the pain of betrayal, the pain of needlessly hurting someone you love, the pain of divorce, the pain of severe clinical depression – the pain I’ve experienced has shown me my severe spiritual, emotional, mental, and relational need for help, for a Savior. While I am not a masochist, I am eternally grateful for the pain that I’ve endured (some of it I heaped upon myself).

Even just in the last three months, I’ve become increasingly thankful for my life’s experiences. A friend of mine challenged me to not waste what I’ve been through. At first I thought his advice was absurd, but I see clearly that all that we are allowed to go through is for our good, for our benefit, for our maturation as believers in Christ.

Pain is an integral, ever-present part of life this side of the grave. But I am holding out hope for the day when the Savior’s touch from Revelation 21:4 comes to fruition – “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore…”

Between now and the grave, regardless of my profession (debt collector, editor, teacher, counselor, missionary, pastor), my heart’s desire is to help the hurting make sense of their pain, the pain that reveals our need, points to the cross, leads us to heaven. Thank you, Lord, for not wasting our pain.

Planted by Streams of Water

I’ve been thirsty before. I remember the first major hike I endeavored. It was an all-day hike across Rocky Mountain National Park while I was in high school. I was in awe at the breathtaking vistas as well as the curious wildlife we saw along the way. If I had the ability to go back in time, I would have done it again. It was absolutely worth it. However, I would have changed one thing.

By the time the hike was over, I was more than parched. By all indications I was severely dehydrated. Perhaps my throbbing headache was partially from the altitude. But the previous day and early that morning, I had not consumed much water at all. I had denied my body the fluid it needed in order to handle the outdoor excursion.

I find myself gravitating toward Psalm 1 on occassion. The man who delights in the law of God is “like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither.”

Today I’m thirsty. And I can’t continue my trek without first drinking from God’s Word. There’s so much that I try to take on with my own strength. But it is so obvious that I will fail if I try to hike one more step without satisfying my soul’s thirst first.

Melancholy Menagerie

Today has just been a surreal day for me. I’ve been especially drawn to revisiting pieces of my past. Even just now I’m listening to old cassette tapes from high school and shortly thereafter. Band and choir concerts, as well as mix tapes for various life events, including the passing of my mom in ’95. I’m not particularly missing her just now, just magnetized toward the last twelve years of my life. It’s the same sensation as going through my journals over the past decade – I almost feel like a peeping tom, looking at my life from the outside. The ups, the downs, the victories, the failures. All of them seem like they’re from another lifetime, from somebody else’s life. While I’m peeking at my life from afar just now, I am experiencing a coctail of emotions. Very strange mood I’m in…

The one thing I’m hanging on to just now is the thought of the Lord calling Himself the Alpha and the Omega. He’s not just the God of the Old Testament, or the New Testament, or the present, or the future, He is the God of all history, beginning through the end. He is in full command of all the universe and all time, including everything that He happens to choose to involve us in. He alone is stable, and He alone is trustworthy, He alone is good.

Even when I feel a sense of melancholy like tonight, I praise God in my heart for who He is, and what He does. Thanks, Lord.