Where They Are

If we're going to make disciples the way that Jesus commissioned us to do, then we have to look at how Jesus made disciples.

Yesterday, we saw that we can't just wait for them to come to us; that's not biblical. So then, what did Jesus do? 

Jesus met them where they were. 

Peter and Andrew were fishing, just going about their daily business. James and John, too. They were on the family fishing boat with their father. Then, Jesus shows up and calls to them. 

Matthew was in his tax collecting booth, just doing his thing. Then, there was Jesus, and he left that booth to pursue something greater. 

Philip was just hanging around, not doing anything in particular, so far as we know, but then Jesus happened by and called out to him, so he came to follow. 

But first, he went over to the fig tree, where Nathanael was just chilling in the shade. And he said to his friend, "Come on. You've got to come see this with me." 

And what does all that mean? It means that Jesus went to the places where the people were, rather than waiting for the people to come to the places where He was. 

Jesus was at the sea. He was walking on the shores, getting His feet in the wet sand. The water was lapping up over His toes. He could smell the fish that were coming out of the water, being processed, on their way to market. All of it. He was there. 

Jesus was in the town, at the tax collector's booth. He was in the same market and same place that all the rest of the people were. He was where they were doing their business, providing for their families, shopping for their homes, trading with their neighbors. He was where the deals were going down. In all the hubbub, He was right in the middle of it. 

Jesus was on the roads. He was walking the same paths that other travelers were walking, moving from one place to another. He was along the paths where the sun was so hot that the shade of a fig tree seemed very inviting. There was dust on His feet and sun in His eyes. Just like anyone else. 

Notice that not once is Jesus standing in the vestibule of the synagogue waiting to greet a first-time visitor. Not once is He sitting in the Temple with the Torah open in front of Him and waiting for someone to come up and ask Him a question. Not once is He just doing His own thing and waiting for someone to join Him. 

No. Jesus was doing their thing, then calling them out of it and into His. 

For a long time in our recent history, the church preached that there were places in this world that were untouchable, places we should never go, places where we should never be seen because it would call into question what kind of persons we actually were...and what kind of persons we were willing to associate with. 

They said the same things about Jesus, but that didn't stop Him. In fact, it just sent Him further into these places. 

And why? 

Because that's where disciples come from. From wherever they are, not from where you want them to be. 

So if we're going to make disciples the way that Jesus made disciples, the way that He taught us to make disciples, then we have to go not where the disciples are, but where the people are. Where the regular, work-a-day, run-of-the-mill persons are doing their day-to-day: at work, in the markets, on the roads. We have to meet them there. 

That's step one. 

How to Make Disciples

Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them.... 

These were Jesus's final words to His disciples, and we call it the Great Commission because we still believe that this is what Jesus wants us to do. 

But...how do you make a disciple?

Too often, we focus on the second part of Jesus's statement: baptize them. Certainly, this has become one of the key metrics for many of our churches. Each year, we talk about the number of persons we have passed through the water, and we use this as a sign of either our success or our room to grow (we would never say "failure;" we can't possibly admit we're not doing what Jesus very explicitly told us to do). 

This implies, of course, that a baptized individual is automatically a disciple. That this one act of outward submission is enough. In a lot of churches, we say something like, "Once saved, always saved," and the same is true about baptism: once baptized, a disciple forever. 

What's interesting about this perspective is...it's not biblical. Countless individuals were going out to the wilderness to see John and were being baptized by him, but the number of his disciples was much smaller. On the other hand, we are not told a single time about the baptism of any of the twelve men who traveled faithfully with Jesus, the men who we originally identified as "the disciples." Jesus Himself was baptized, but that didn't make Him a disciple. 

So then, it must be something besides baptism that makes a person a disciple. 

That's okay. We have a metric for this, too. In some churches, we just count persons who have 1) "made a decision" for Christ, who 2) make a commitment to the church, or who 3) make a statement indicating they want to be a disciple. In other words, anyone who comes and stays is a disciple. Or, at least, a disciple-in-the-making. 

What's interesting about this perspective is...it's not biblical, either. Plenty of individuals came to Jesus in various locations and times over the course of His ministry; not all of them became disciples. Many individuals expressed desire to stay and travel with Jesus and become part of what He was doing, and He told many of them to go home. They didn't become disciples, either. 

And the actual disciples? Of the ones we are told about, not a single one just showed up on their own. Peter and Andrew, James and John, were called off their boats. Matthew was called out of his tax collecting booth. Philip was on the road and Jesus called him to come, and then he went and invited Nathanael, who Jesus then affirmed and welcomed. 

Not one of the disciples heard there was a worship service that they were welcome to attend, then decided to just hang around and get in on this thing. 

So then, making a disciple is not simply baptizing an individual, and it's not simply making a space for them to come and worship and waiting for them to walk through your doors. 

Making a disciple is something much more intentional. 

And if we want to pursue the Great Commission and do this thing that Jesus called us to do, then what we really need is to look at the way that Jesus did it and try to do that. 

So...what does that look like? (Come back tomorrow, and we'll talk about it.) 

About That...

How much of your life are you willing to be honest about? 

It's an interesting question because in my experience, every one of us has some things we would rather hide. Anyone who knows me knows I'm fairly open about my life, but it's taken me a long time to get there and that doesn't mean I'm ready to confess everything. 

But then, there's this woman at a well, and well...she makes me think about things. 

Remember her? You can find her story in John 4. 

Jesus travels to Samaria, and His disciples go on into town looking for provisions while He takes a rest by a well on the outskirts of town. (Think here about all the wells in the Old Testament. That's fun.) Anyway, here comes a woman in the heat of the day, far from the time when anyone else would be coming to the well. And that's on purpose. 

She's got a reputation. Everyone in town knows her story, and they aren't impressed by it. She's a reject. A waste. Maybe a danger, we can't be sure. She's had multiple husbands, which means that either the men are divorcing her for some major character flaw that she has or they are dying. Neither is a particularly good look for her. So she comes out for water when she knows she'll be alone. 

But then, there's this man. Just sitting there. Like...what? 

Jesus strikes up a conversation. They start talking about water. Or so she thinks. She's talking about water; Jesus is talking about living water, which is an entirely different thing. And then Jesus says to her, "Go and get your husband." 

Now, this is still a stranger. She doesn't know who this man is. He, apparently, doesn't know her. She could say anything here, anything she wants to. She decides on a - somewhat limited - version of the truth: 

I don't have a husband.

It's technically true. She doesn't currently have a husband. But it conveniently leaves out the rest of the story, which Jesus goes ahead and fills in for her: 

You're right. You don't have a husband. The full truth is that you've had five husbands, but the man you are living with now is not one of them. 

Ouch. 

And yet, can we give her a little credit here for owning her situation? She rightly states that she doesn't have a husband. She doesn't pour out her whole story (it must be refreshing to think you're talking to someone, finally, who doesn't know it), but she's honest. 

She didn't have to be honest. She could have walked Jesus back to wherever she was living and walked right in like she owned the place and engaged immediately with the man who lives there and an average man might not know the difference. It sure would have saved her the shame of being a single woman at her age. Who would it have hurt? 

On the other hand, she could have really poured out her story and told everything and risked embarrassing or shaming herself. But why would she do that? 

It wouldn't have been uncommon for a strange man to want to speak to the husband of a woman he was talking to. It was respectful. It would have indicated he was drawing clear lines to make clear that he was not intending anything, that he wasn't stepping onto another man's turf. If she was single, maybe a strange man would have then wanted to talk to her father, to whatever man was responsible for her. This could have been a hook-up. She might have thought she was looking at husband #6. I don't have a husband....do you want to apply for the job?

Regardless of what might have been going on in her head, she tells the truth about her status in life when there are all sorts of opportunities to offer a different narrative, and, well, something about that strikes me. 

Something about that makes me think about the ways that I present my own story, about the ways that others present their stories to me. It seems in our culture, we're so often trying to tell the stories we think others want to hear, that they'll be most impressed by, that make us look the best in someone else's eyes. We spin things, with enough truth that it checks out if anyone looks a little in that direction, but not the whole truth because...why would we do that? 

And then, there's Jesus. And the gentleness with which He says, You're right. That's the truth. But the full truth is.... 

And I want a God who speaks like that into my life. 

Just like the woman at the well, that's one of the ways that I know He is the Lord. 

Life Together

I am a frustrating friend. I know that. But if you can fathom what seems impossible these days, it really just is what it is. 

See, I spent most of my formative years as the smartest person in the room. The smartest kid in the class. The one that everyone else was waiting to answer the questions for them. Feeling all the eyes on me - the teachers and my classmates alike - because they knew I knew. It was annoying, but it kept things moving. 

But the truth is that I've always been more curious than smart. I've always liked exploring the world around me, learning new things, looking from different angles, trying to see everything that I could see. Being the smartest kid in the class clouded that for awhile because I was also desperate to please and I knew what the "right" answer was, so I was quick to show both mastery and acceptability and to claim this as a virtue. 

As time went on, I began to understand that while I might sometimes be the smartest person in the room, I'm very seldom the wisest person in the room. And that's an important distinction. 

I'm very seldom the wisest because every single person has a different perspective based on their own experiences and wiring and vision for what's around them. And the minute that, as an adult, you think there is one "right" answer, you run up against someone who reads the question with a different emphasis. And now, not only is your answer not right, but it's worse than that: it's arrogant and insensitive and well, wrong. 

So I have been very deliberate in my maturing life about learning to see other perspectives, understand them, or at the very least, acknowledge that they exist and that there might be some outside of my own comprehensional ability. 

In a world that is increasingly black and white, I swirl in shades of grey. And that's frustrating for others. 

But it's not inauthentic. 

Twenty years ago, I took a class on group dynamics in college. As part of this class, we split off into small groups and took up hot-button issues with strong divides down the middle. Think "abortion" as one example...on a Christian campus, no less. And the task was simple: argue the topic, make valid points, attempt to see the other person's perspective, learn how to acknowledge a disagreement and maintain cordiality. 

A few minutes into the exercise, the professor got everyone's attention and said, "Okay, now switch sides." 

We all stared at her. She clarified, "Whichever side of the debate you were just arguing, take the other side and keep going...with the same partner." 

So we switched sides. And when the time expired, everyone in my little group looked at me and said, "We don't know which side you actually believe." Everyone knew where my partner really stood. There was chatter among the other groups about how hard it was to try to argue something they didn't really believe. 

Nobody could figure out where I really stood. 

Not because I don't have an opinion on the subject. I do. I believe there is a truth, a right and a wrong, a way that is God-pleasing to approach the matter. 

But I believe that the way we engage one another is more important to God. I mean, He said so. He said that was the thing that mattered most. Love God, love one another. Do this one another thing right. 

And this one another thing is not about being right or wrong, but being able to engage and to understand a perspective other than your own. It's about believing someone else is just as earnest as you are, even if you think they're wrong. It's being able to live in the grey when everyone is begging you to pick black or white. 

I believe that truth is real, but trueness always lies somewhere in the middle. 

I'm reminded of this this week. Another election has passed and there are celebrations and mourning, excitement and outrage, satisfaction and disbelief. And somehow, there are a whole bunch of persons - a wild majority, sadly - who seem to believe that an entire segment of the population showed up at the polls just to vote for failure. Just to make sure we all lose. 

Friends, nobody voted to destroy our society. Nobody. Nobody went to the polls and said to themselves, "I want this whole social experiment of being a community to fail." Everyone was looking forward at a future that actually, we largely agree on, and had their own perspective on how we get there. 

Black looks wrong if you believe what's white, and white looks wrong if you believe what's black and truth is, well, generally one or the other. It is. 

But trueness is always somewhere in the middle. It's always grey. It's always in the space where we have to get out of high-brow debates and back into the mess of living together. Of one anothering. 

That's the only space that truly matters. 

And it makes me a frustrating friend because this is the space I'm always going to live in. So...I'm sorry. Kind of. But I love you anyway. 

For real. 

Healed

We have been looking at the story of the demoniac, the man Jesus encountered in a cemetery who was possessed by (as it turns out, "many") demons. And we said we have to start by giving this guy credit for living with demons that would literally drive pigs off a cliff. Then, we said we don't really know what to with someone who knows how to handle their demons. We went on to say that the place to start is by letting our demons speak, by being honest about what we're dealing with. And we ended by seeing how our greatest battles often lead to our greater purpose. 

But I would be remiss, of course, in a Christian space, no less, if I did not say that I think that's the hard way. 

I mean, sure. Fighting the stigma, battling the demons, pushing through by sheer willpower, creating space for demons to speak, all the things. Great. Yeah. 

But Jesus speaks a word and the demons are gone. 

And, we have to add, the man didn't even have to say anything. The man didn't ask to be healed. The man didn't beg for the demons to be gone. The man never declared belief, or even "help my unbelief," to Jesus. Not a peep. 

He simply let his demons drag him to Jesus, and Jesus did the rest. 

That's what I love about God. 

See, Jesus lands on the seashore, and this man comes running out of the cemetery, screaming at Him. We're told the screaming is from the demons. The demons brought the body of the man to Jesus so that they could confront Him. 

Have a problem in your life that wants to stand in the face of God and ask Why? Cool. Me, too. This guy, too. 

Then, Jesus engages. Jesus listens. Jesus speaks. Jesus casts out. Jesus heals. 

All the man had to do was let his demons take him there. 

The same is true for you and me. 

Listen, I've lived a long enough and hard enough life, even a long enough and hard enough life of faith, with (as it turns out, "many") challenges to know that just believing in Jesus, coming to Jesus, praying to Jesus, trusting in Jesus doesn't get us the instantaneous, speak-a-word healing that we wish was so easy. I'd be lying to you if I said it did. 

But I'm not lying to you when I say that it can. It can because Jesus can. Actually, He's the only one who can. 

Because I've lived a long enough and hard enough life, even a long enough and hard enough life of faith, to tell you with absolute certainty that I can't. 

Maybe you're there, too. Maybe you can't. Maybe you know that you can't. That's okay. Because even if you could, I gotta tell you - that's the hard way. 

The easy way is to just come to Jesus and let Him speak.

And He will. 

And maybe it's not instantaneous. And maybe there are no pigs diving off cliffs. And maybe there are no townsfolk shouting for Him to leave. But still, somehow, there you are, clothed and in your right mind...

And how could it be other than this?