students of jesus

One day a couple of years ago I hung with Jesus in a dingy hospital room in Columbia, Kentucky. His diabetes was acting up again, which was no surprise because dumpster-divers don’t have the best diet even on a good day. He had already lost a few toes here or there in previous years but this time he was facing the possible loss of his foot. (Don’t worry: I prayed for him, his condition improved, and he ambled away from the hospital on both feet a few days later.)

I’d actually been hanging out with Jesus for a couple of months, but I’m a little slow to recognize old friends.

It started when a guy named Bill came to church. You couldn’t miss him: Bill was a rumple of a man well over six-foot tall, with shaggy, wrinkled clothes. He topped his look off by a snow-white beard and white hair, neither of which had seen a comb in weeks. Everything about him screamed homeless. On his very first visit to church he headed straight toward our coffee bar. Bill’s big frame ambled slowly through our café as the result of his missing toes. The only thing more worrisome than whether he would make it to the coffee bar without falling was the possibly that he would make it to the coffee bar and then try to walk away holding the hot coffee in unsteady hands.

Bill and his coffee made it safely to a table, so I introduced myself. I did so more out of a concern for other’s safety than to make him feel welcome. (When you see people like Bill your first thoughts are about the possibilities of what could go wrong.) I wanted to check him out first-hand. Everything about Bill was confusing.

Where are you from? I used to drive a truck in the Northeast.

How’d you hear about our church? I drove by the other day.

Tell me about your family: I think they’re in Indiana, at least, they were the last time I talked to them.

When the service started Bill worshipped the same way most of us did, except he was taller, shabbier, and scarier than the rest of us. He raised his hands and tilted his head upward. He was content to be in the presence of God and God’s people—even if they were a bit nervous about being in Bill’s presence.

He became a regular each Sunday, and it turned out Bill had an entourage. He took care of Roberta, 60-plus years old, short, loud, and extremely off-putting. She was pretty ugly. One week Bill pulled me aside and apologized for her behavior and explained that her family had thrown her out on the street. He said he was her only protection. They lived together in an abandoned mobile home out in the county. There didn’t seem to be anything awkward about the arrangement because Roberta definitely needed protection, mostly from herself. A few weeks later Bill brought Doug and Maria, a thirty-something couple. They were both embarrassingly overweight. Doug seemed pretty normal but Maria was almost certainly mentally handicapped. Bill told me they were down on their luck and needed a place to stay until they got up on their feet. Bill’s squatter mobile home didn’t have heat or electricity but it was safe and dry, so he opened his home to them.

Bill came to church early and loved to greet people. If they asked what he did for a living he smiled and said simply, “I’m a dumpster-diver.” Which was true: that’s how Bill cared for Roberta and provided shelter for Doug and Maria (although he once complained to me privately that Doug ate too much—especially the fresh produce he regularly scored at the dumpster behind Kroger). The brave people who asked how Bill came into that line of work heard his story about a stroke he suffered while behind the wheel of an 18-wheeler in downtown New York City. It seems Bill lost consciousness and drove the truck into the entrance of a Manhattan office building. That’s when he switched careers.

One day Roberta came to church alone. She told me Bill was in the hospital. Small-town Kentucky hospitals can be pretty depressing places, but when I walked into his room Bill looked up and gave me a smile from his bed. The smile was his big mistake; that’s when I saw through his disguise and figured out I was actually hanging out with Jesus. I tried to play it cool and not let on. Bill asked about my family. He asked how the church was getting along. He put me completely at ease. There in his hospital room he was a gracious host, I was the guest.

I had come to pray for his foot. His circulation had failed. The foot was turning colors and he was likely to lose it above the ankle. He needed healing, but it was difficult praying over his ankle because after all, I was ministering to the Lord of Glory. When we finished praying I asked him if he felt any better. He said, “I’m not worried. It’ll all work out.” And it did. The circulation returned. He was discharged and came back to church just a few more times before he moved on to Indiana. He said he wanted to see his family.

A few months later I received a hand-written letter, blue ink on a notebook page. The ragged little pieces from where the page was torn out of the spiral notebook tickled the fingers of my left hand. Doug and Maria had found public-assisted housing. Roberta was ill and perhaps sick unto death, and Bill was finding riches in the dumpsters of southern Indiana.

He thanked me for the welcome he had received in Kentucky. I sat holding the letter, but I couldn’t recall if I had ever thanked him hanging out with us.

Through the new birth we possess our heavenly citizenship—not a citizenship that comes in handy when we die, but a citizenship that can change the way we think and act now. Jesus is not only our Lord and savior; he is the firstborn of a new race. “Firstborn” means the pattern has been set. It means others will follow. Those who are born from above receive heaven’s DNA here and now.

The New Testament refers to Jesus as the “firstborn” in at least five contexts: as Mary’s firstborn child (Luke 2: 7 & 23), as the “first born among many brothers” (Romans 8:29), as the “firstborn over all creation” (Colossians 1: 15), the “firstborn of the dead” (Colossians 1: 18 and Revelation 1:5), and finally as God’s firstborn son (Hebrews 1: 6). In the first century the concept of firstborn was well known, both in the natural sense and in a spiritual sense as well. You can find these references to Jesus as the firstborn in the gospels, the letters of Paul, the preaching of Hebrews and the book of Revelation. Rarely do we find one repeated idea spanning so many New Testament genres.

Let’s do some deep study: when Jesus was born to Mary he entered the world with a specific Jewish identity—that of a firstborn son. Throughout the Bible narrative the firstborn son was special. The firstborn was set apart to the Lord Himself (Exodus 13:2). The firstborn was the one who “opened” the womb: after one child was born, there was an expectation that more would follow. This idea that more children will follow the firstborn is also the sense of Paul’s passage in Romans. “For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers.” (Romans 8:29) God intended that after Jesus many more of his brothers and sisters would follow. In Colossians “firstborn” means more than birth order, it means the highest place: Jesus is the “firstborn over all creation,” that is, nothing in the created realm can equal him. Paul then explores another image immediately by recognizing that just as Jesus conquered death, so could his followers: “And he is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy.” (Colossians 1: 15&18) The resurrected body of Jesus is beautiful and glorious beyond telling. We, too, will receive this glorious resurrected body. Finally, the writer of Hebrews states plainly that Jesus is not only the firstborn of Mary, but born of God himself.

Put all these statements together: The Father desired to have many children, but his firstborn Son would occupy the highest place by virtue of birth order and by virtue of his supremacy. Jesus is unique, he has the highest place, but he also makes possible a new creation, a group of people called the children of God. This is you and me! Jesus is the “last Adam” (1 Corinthians 15:45); Paul calls everyone who follows Jesus a “new creation.” (2 Corinthians 5:17) We are the new creation, those born from above, in the image of the Great Firstborn Jesus. Do you see the wonder of your new birth—that you were “born from above”?

John’s gospel is famous for the encounter between Jesus and Nicodemus (chapter three). Evangelicalism has drawn the phrase “born again” from this chapter, which details a discussion between a teacher in Israel and the Lord himself. Jesus told Nicodemus the born again experience was necessary to see the Kingdom of God (John 3:3). A more literal rendering of the phrase “born again” is actually born from above. The Holy Spirit chose his words carefully: while affirming the need for a spiritual rebirth, the words “born from above” point to the source of that birth—it comes from above. It comes from heaven. This was true of Jesus, who came from heaven to earth, and it is true of those who follow him. The source of the new birth is from above.

Jesus the firstborn has opened the womb of heaven. In following, everyone who is born from above has the resources of heaven available. The nature and the power of the resurrection dwell in each new child of God. This is no mere formality: because the womb of heaven has been opened by Jesus, the firstborn, each of us has the potential to live heavenly lives now, on earth. Why settle for an identity as earth-bound people who wait for a ticket off this planet? Let’s live into the possibilities that, through Jesus, Heaven is born in us even now. Where will you start?

We have all met some really mean people in our lives. Let's try an experiment: Take a moment and try to recall the meanest person you know. Perhaps it was your sixth-grade teacher. Or perhaps a neighbor who went beyond unfriendly all the way to downright mean. I’m talking about a real-life person, the kind who still has the ability to raise your blood pressure even if you haven’t seen him or her in years.

Have you selected someone? Someone real? Good. Now imagine the same person in Heaven, standing among the people of every tribe, tongue and nation, surrounded by the worshipping assembly drawn from all generations. Don’t try to clean things up, leave him or her the same mean, critical, hard-hearted, stingy, and greedy person—the same person in heaven as you remembered on earth. It doesn’t seem right, does it? How could an unhappy, miserable, mean person join the throng of Heaven?

I know what you’re thinking. You figure I’m angling toward forgiveness. But this exercise is not about God’s forgiveness.

It’s about who we are after we turn to God. God forgives the deepest evil in the lives of men and women. As Corrie Ten Boom used to say, “there is no pit that God’s love is not deeper still.” I’m glad. Aren’t you? But forgiveness is not the same thing as spiritual formation. Spiritual formation is about what happens to us after we receive the gracious gift of Jesus and his sacrifice. Spiritual formation is learning how to live in heaven right now, on earth.

This exercise invites us to consider whether forgiveness is the only good news. What if we were forgiven by God but remained forever unable to change? What if our decision to accept Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross meant we were forever trapped in a cycle of sin and forgiveness, over and over again, unable to escape the kind of person we had become? How many of us want to come to God asking forgiveness for the same things year after year, decade after decade? Always forgiven, never able to change.

The earliest followers of Jesus expected spiritual formation to follow hard after forgiveness. They took seriously the metaphor of the new birth. They knew babies grow into children, and children grow into adults. They considered conversion the beginning, not the end.

Paul shared the gospel with people in Galatia, and later wrote to them because they began to embrace a deadly spirituality:

“Now that you know God, how is it you are turning back to weak and miserable principles? . . . What has happened to all your joy? . . . I am again in the pains of childbirth until Christ is formed in you.” (Galatians 4: 9,15,19)

His concern was not only for correct doctrine but also for growth and health. He expected Jesus could actually be formed in them. How many of us have the same expectation today?

Paul urged the believers in Rome to break free of the habits of the past and find not just eternal life, but the kind of life that could transform them into different people:

“For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers.” (Romans 8:29)

Whatever else predestination may mean, Paul clearly believed followers of Jesus have a destiny: to become like Jesus. Did he think we would magically become different people when we got heaven? Or did he expect spiritual transformation to begin here and now?

How many of us turned to Jesus for something more than forgiveness? How many of us heard all of the good news: right relationships, peace, and joy are possible in this life as we learn to drink deep of God’s presence here and now? (Romans 14:17) What if we can transformed from the “mean guy” into the “Christlike guy” day by day? Did anyone tell us that the joy of heaven need not wait until the end of the age?

When we are born from above the beginning has just begun. The joy of heaven is available to us as we learn how to crawl, toddle, and eventually walk in the Spirit. The prisons of our own anger, resentment, and yes, our own meanness, can drop away as we position ourselves to receive more and more of the grace of God. The Biblical ideal of spiritual transformation holds the promise of heaven on earth because we can begin to join the heavenly host now. Wouldn’t it be a shame to get to heaven and be unable to enjoy the party? 

Do we really believe God’s power is perfected in weakness? To those with hopes of powerful ministry the scripture asks of us, “What price are you willing to endure?” The apostle Paul, God’s great herald, was weakened and battered by beatings, shipwrecks, bandits and hunger. He became an object of scorn among the very people he tried to help: people from one of his own churches said of him, “His bodily presence is weak, and his speech contemptible.“ He was not only endangered and rejected by men, he was targeted by the Devil, tormented by a messenger of Satan. Three times Paul asked the Father to remove this curse.

God’s answer? “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.”

While God’s answer might have crushed others, Paul embraced it to the full: “Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ’s sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong.” (2 Corinthians 12:9-10)

Let’s look at the perfection of beauty, Jesus. Can we see in him what we learn from Paul? Of course, only more so: Jesus, King of Kings and Prince of Peace, perfected his strength in weakness.

He was:

Weak as an infant, newborn

Weak in exile as a youth

Weak in the labor and sweat of daily work

Weak as one rejected by those he came to save

Weak as one betrayed by a close friend

Weak as one falsely charged and arrested

Weak as one beaten and mocked by the stewards of the law

Weak as one stripped naked and lifted up in public

Weak as one who asked, “Why have you forsaken me?”

Weak as one who died a curséd death

And what strengths were perfected in such a humble Lord?

Strong as one who laid aside his rights as God

Strong as one who made all things, yet had no place to lay his head

Strong as one fatigued by the heat of the day, yet still served others

Strong as one content in the Father’s praise

Strong as one who drank the bitter cup reserved only for him

Strong as an innocent man who refused to plead his case

Strong as one whose stripes healed the wounds of the world

Strong as one whose scars of shame became the marks of glory

Strong as one who placed his spirit into the hands of God, declaring, “It is finished”

Strong as one resurrected by God, who sits enthroned forever over all creation

Set aside the question of Heaven or Hell when we reach the afterlife: what about Heaven or Hell while we live? It’s only by God’s grace that we reach Heaven, but the good news is better than we know: by God’s grace Heaven can reach us. The scripture teaches we are saved by grace. Grace begins the work of salvation in here-and-now and completes whatever is left undone in the there-and-then. Both flow from the indispensable grace of God. The world needs grace. We need grace. I need grace. Not for my last breath but for every breath.

The fabric of everyday life is alive with the grace of God. Grace forgives, but it also guides. Consider these amazing words from Titus 2:11-12: “For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all men, instructing us to deny ungodliness and worldly desires and to live sensibly, righteously and godly in the present age . . .” In these words we can hear the full symphony of God’s grace in three movements:

Grace for Salvation: This is the gospel we know. God’s grace reaches everyone, because no one can reach God by his or her own efforts. The melody of God’s grace sings in every language, for all peoples, at all times. God loves the world. He always has and always will. By his grace we are saved because in Jesus God paid every debt: past, present, and future. But grace goes beyond the song we first learned.

Grace to Deny Ungodliness: By grace we are not defenseless against sin’s call. The same grace that saves can also teach, instructing us how to say “no” to worldly desires. True, there will be times when we stumble and fall into sin, but we are more than sinners in need of grace, we are saints lifted out of sin’s power. If we wait until we’ve sinned to call upon the grace of God, we’ve squandered the greater part of grace. Grace restores, but it also leads us on.

Grace to Live Godly: Not only does God’s grace instruct us to deny ungodly ways: it teaches us the how-to of life: how to life sensible, upright, and godly lives in this present age. God’s grace is about more than repair; it is also about preparation. The scripture describes the Christian life as a journey from glory to glory. We are called to be conformed to the image of God's Son. We need grace not because our sin is so great but also because our destiny is so grand. We are called children of God—and that is what we are!

How will the watching world see a demonstration of the grace of God? This is how the Kingdom of God comes to earth: through the lives of grace-filled believers. The Kingdom glides in on wings of grace. The Kingdom brings righteousness, peace, and joy—and best of all the gracious Holy Spirit leads us to experience (and share) these three in everyday life. The Kingdom is never attained; it is received. How will we receive the grace of the Kingdom today?

Time and again the apostle Paul urged his friends to lift their vision higher and closer. There's grace for salvation; there's also grace for transformation. Grace helps us discover the source of all growth in Jesus, and the foundations of life with Christ. God’s grace is the wellspring of spiritual formation, but too often we have shortened “Grace” to mean only forgiveness. Grace can bring more than forgiveness; it can bring change. Disciples use grace as the fuel for transformation.

We need a greater grace. Grace reminds us again of the wealth of Heaven available to every student of Jesus.