students of jesus

What a powerful urge it is to figure things out, to master a concept, to place an idea firmly within our grasp.

If only Jesus would cooperate. 

Today I sing a cautious song against systematic theology: that holy grail of the academy, driven by the conviction that we can stuff the God of the universe into 1,264 pages.

I know: I’m already being unfair. I’ve already built the strong man. I’ve already insulted half my friends. So in advance I offer an apology to my educated brothers and sisters, half-hearted though it is. I’m sorry for such judgment; I haven’t done the work you have done: years of study and hard thinking. Any team with Dallas Willard in the starting line-up deserves respect. And yet . . .

I once listened to a seminarian speak for an hour on the subject of penal substitutionary atonement. He reviewed the meaning of Greek words and blazed a trail through what felt like the entire New Testament. He was passionate, and beneath his words anyone could see his love for Jesus. At the end of his presentation he asked for questions. There were none. How could there be—who knew as much as this guy? But then I jumped into the pool: “Dr. FireHeart,” I started. “If you can forgive me bringing up the so-what factor, I’d like to ask you why—why do we need to know this?”

Dr. FireHeart shuffled his papers a moment and gathered his thoughts. He looked back at me and stammered, “I, uh . . . Well, I just think it’s good to know.” The room was awkwardly quiet until the moderator thanked Dr. FireHeart for his excellent presentation and dismissed the room. Other academicians filed past me with cold stares.

Today’s post is not an argument in favor of ignorance. Everything I’ve learned I’ve received from generous and wise men and women, people much more learned than I. They have run the race and done the work. In most cases their passion for Jesus sustained them in that work. But if I’m honest, I would rather be left stammering and befuddled by the tension in Jesus' words than reduce him to a comprehensible theology. The root meaning of “comprehend” comes from ancient verb “to grasp.” I smile at the thought of Jacob trying to grasp the angel of the Lord and wrestle him to the ground. I smile at the thought of the human mind trying to grasp the lightning that flashes from the east to the west, or trying to grasp the wind, which blows where it wills. If any part of me is able to grasp the fullness of God, it’s my heart, not my mind.

Instead, I’m asking what is necessary to become a student of Jesus. I’m asking what it means—in practical terms—to take his yoke and learn from him. I’m asking why “discipleship” is so often characterized as study, and so rarely characterized as apprenticeship. I’m asking if the smartest people in the room always make the best disciples. I’m asking why, after writing his 13-volume Church Dogmatics (nearly 8,000 pages in the English Translation), Karl Barth chose to summarize his work by reciting the children’s song, Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.

I’m asking for the grace of God to be rooted and established in in me, and that I may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that we all may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.