students of jesus

Long ago and far away, in a land before the Internet was born, I did volunteer work with college-campus missionary association. Each volunteer was trained in the Evangelical art of the testimony, where, in three minutes or less, we described our life before meeting Jesus, how we met Jesus, and ended with verse from the scripture. We wrote our testimony, we memorized our testimony, and we testified, all in three minutes or less.

I’m sure this method has helped thousands of people meet Jesus, but for me the process was more test than testimony. They wanted me to present a tidy package: my life, pre and post conversion. Problem was my conversion to Christ was not the apex of my story; it was the beginning of the trail. My spiritual formation had taken a turn—a conversion—but the new story was just under way.

Leaders within this organization had written, memorized, and delivered their testimony over and over. Some of their stories were ten years old, or more. In addition to the message they intended to share was the unspoken message that coming to Jesus was the finish line. It’s a strange finish line indeed that the scripture describes as a “new birth.”

The Biblical metaphor extends a challenge we don’t often see: the good news of being born again is actually an invitation to new growth. We become a new creation, not a three-minute YouTube video. The Apostle Paul had a life-long vision for each person (and each church) he planted: “I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.“ The work of God, which had been below the surface prior to conversion, was just breaking through the soil. The tree was just a sprout.

Some people have never formulated their personal faith story. Not their conversion story, their personal faith development—the formation of their lives, the richness of life with God, the comfort of his on-going presence.

In the decades since my college missionary days, I’ve wondered about that testimony. No one (to my knowledge) turned to Jesus because of it, yet I imagine God nudged a few people down their path based on my rehearsed speech. What if I shared a testimony of an on-going presence? What if the story I shared included the notion that the very one who said, “I will never leave you or forsake you” is the very one still living and active in my life today? What if I shared the good news that in 45+ years, I’ve never been alone?

Of course, it’s not too late. I’m sharing it now. My testimony, which began in my teenage years, is fuller, deeper, and richer as I approach my sixtieth year. I’d like to think this testimony has more weight—and the light of truth. It’s a testimony not only of saving grace, but also of sustaining grace. “Through many dangers, toils and snares. I have already come; 'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far and Grace will lead me home.”

How about you? What’s your story? Give yourself more than three minutes. Declare the goodness of God.

Do you find this curious? Jesus told his disciples “You cannot change a single hair on your head from black to white,” yet these same disciples changed an empire within a generation. Jesus asked us to consider that the birds of the air do not sow or reap but are fed by their Heavenly Father, yet he used his disciples to feed thousands of people on a moment’s notice.

When the Roman authority Pontius Pilate told Jesus, “Don’t you realize I have the power to either free you or crucify you?” Jesus waved off the threat by telling Pilate “you have no power except what’s been given to you.” Pilate eventually died, Jesus rose from the grave, and the so-called power of Rome is now only the stuff of history.

Here, then, is the curious lesson: we love power, but the power we love is an illusion. We love control, but “being in control” is a deception, while self-control is greater than the strength required to conquer a city. Jesus invites the sick, the lame, and the outcast to enter God’s Kingdom. The healthy, the strong, and the popular he lets play in the sandbox of their own illusions. To the strong and the rich, the gospel is an invitation to join the losing side. To the poor and the meek it is good news that changes the world.

Over the centuries we’ve done our best to fight back against the Lord’s kingdom: through the earth-bound miracles of science and capitalism we can now change the color of our hair (or the very lines on our faces!). We may be able to hide the grey be we cannot stop the march of time. Through the ingenuity of invention we can weave enough clothing to cover the nakedness of all humanity, but instead we sell our products to the highest bidder.

The wisdom of this age loves power and control. The wisdom of God suggests that “out of control” is actually an uncharted path toward discovering ultimate reality. The wisdom of this age counts horses, soldiers, and guns: in 1935 Joseph Stalin mocked Pope John, “The Pope? How many divisions has he got?” In 2015 Stalin (and his Soviet Union) lies among the rubble of history while Pope Francis visits the former capitals of Communism. Francis carries the image of a naked dying man on the crucifix all over the world (hardly a show of strength).

Even church leaders are seduced by the worldly beauty of power and control. Among Evangelicals the “best” churches are usually the biggest, the richest, the slickest, and the most popular. Power and control are still illusions, even if we are inside the walls of a church, but we should ask ourselves, how would church be different if Jesus had his way?

What is true on the big stage is true for individual students of Jesus. In every living room, at every family table, and in each community we are faced with the choice presented by the Psalmist thousands of years ago: “Some trust in chariots and horse, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.” (Psalm 20:7) The victories of God are played out on the world stage—but also the front porch. His kindness prevails among the nations and among the neighbors. This means we are faced with the same choice facing the great and the mighty: will we forsake the need for control and the thirst for power and instead do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with our God?

The good news is quiet, and perhaps even subversive: he shows himself strong wherever he encounters a single humble heart.

Did I ever tell you about the time a 65 year-old pastor stood on top of his desk to illustrate why his perspective was more important than other people’s? “No one else can see what I see,” he said, “because no one else has the same role.”

He didn’t think he was more important than other people: he thought his position was. He was, in fact, a dedicated servant of God, someone who poured his life into pastoring one church for forty-plus years. “From this height I can see what others cannot see,” he said, with his feet planted on the walnut desk. “It’s not about me, it’s about my role as pastor. God put me here.”

I’m talking about a good man, a hard-working man, who loved Jesus fiercely and established a church in an urban neighborhood during the decades when other pastors and churches left the city. But after forty years there was no clear successor to the role of pastor. Staff members had come and gone while the pastor remained. The pastor may have considered it the mantle of leadership, or the lonely calling to be a leader. He was respected and admired, but the people of the church felt the distance between him and them. The younger generations saw the gap between the neighborhood around the church (which was growing younger) and the membership of the church (which was growing older). He built a church; what he did not do was make disciples.

The church was filled with people who loved and respected their pastor. They saw him as a great man (and in many respects he was a great man). Yet the people of the church had no reasonable expectation that they could have a faith like his. He was the shepherd, they were the sheep—and sheep do not morph into shepherds.

In terms of modern church metrics his ministry was effective: hundreds (if not thousands) of conversions and baptisms, a church of more than a thousand people, and a long run of ministry in the same place. But the human, interpersonal, side of the ledger is more difficult to balance: frustrated staff members who usually left on bad terms, church members who loved Jesus but had no real maturity in Christ, and the very real possibility that when the pastor retires the church will face a steep decline in the “successful” numbers as well.

Was this man’s calling from Jesus? Yes, or course. Were his methods Christ like? In many ways yes: he was a man of integrity and passion, fully devoted to God and his church. But in one important respect, no: the well-meaning pastor actively worked to maintain a separation between himself and his people. It was a Moses model (great man/great leader) instead of a Jesus model (one of us). The Moses model emphasizes the difference between the leader and the people; the Jesus model looks to transform the people into the image of the leader. Moses appointed a successor; Jesus made copies of himself.

One reason Jesus made disciples so effectively is his first action was to become one of us. His second action was to demonstrate the possibilities of life with God through the Holy Spirit. Jesus, the awesome Second Person of the Eternal Trinitarian God, set aside the role of “god” and became a man. He did not pretend to be a man, he became a man. From the very beginning, the Lord intended to reproduce himself in our lives. The scripture calls this "bringing many sons (and daughters) to glory," with the goal that there would be a vast, holy, family. (Hebrews 2:10-11) Jesus suffered the same life-events we suffer, he toiled and sweat and laughed and cried and experienced life as we do; his path to holiness is our path as well—he took no shortcuts. Our ears can be trained to hear the Spirit and our eyes can be trained to read the scriptures in the same ways he did.

Jesus constantly reminded the disciples that the world’s view of leadership was not his view. The world loves great leaders who stand out from the crowd; Jesus identifies with us so strongly that he believes we can become like him. Nor is this only a question for leaders. It goes to the heart of our own personal expectations. We must ask, “Do I really believe I can be transformed into the Master’s image? Do I want to follow his example or merely use him as a Savior?”

He came to show us how to live. He came to reproduce himself in us. His saving action on the cross is the work of the Son of God; the obedience that led him to the cross is the work of the Son of Man. We cannot pay the price for anyone’s sin, but we can teach others to be like Jesus.

I’m thinking about the story found in Matthew 8:5-13, where a Roman soldier came to ask Jesus heal a slave. You know the story, right? It’s familiar to us all. Except that it’s frequently the stuff we think we know that has something new to say. It certainly has been whispering new life to me lately.

Here are five whispers; they remind me there’s more to gain:

Roman Centurions are so much a part of the New Testament narrative that I’d forgotten what outsiders they were: men of power and authority, outsiders to the religious establishment of Israel. Centurions looked, dressed, ate, and acted differently than the Jewish folk around them. And this is where we find faith: from someone beyond the boundaries. Surely there were plenty of faith-full Hebrews, but Jesus calls the outsider an exemplar. The first whisper: How many faith-full people am I ignoring simply because they don’t look like me?

This guy cared about a slave. He could’ve bought another. He was in the killing game, but he cared about a suffering of a slave. I have trouble caring about my friends; the Centurion cared enough to go find help—and he did so personally, he didn’t send any one of a hundred men under his command. A second whisper: How many violent people feel the weight of suffering?

Later on in the New Testament the Apostle Paul tells us that soldiers don’t get involved in civilian affairs (2 Timothy 2:4), but this guy did. How else would an occupying Roman soldier be aware of a Jewish rabbi who healed the sick? The Centurion knew where to go and who to ask. A third whisper: the most unlikely people might be paying attention to my world.

A fourth whisper: sometimes humility and authority are brothers. The soldier said he wasn’t worthy to receive Jesus in his home and that he, too, knew about authority. We tend to think authority comes with its own power, but this humble man knew where the real power resided (and, I suspect, where the ultimate authority dwelt as well). That’s counter-cultural everywhere except the kingdom of God.

Finally, Jesus saw faith and talked about a feast. The Lord said the banqueting ticket had nothing to do with ethnicity or connections or money or power. It had everything to do with faith. God honors faith the way we honor cold hard cash. Faith is the currency of his kingdom. Jesus also said, “It will be done just as you believed it would.” Sitting at the intersection between faith and imagination there’s a pagan soldier, certain of the outcome. He gets it exactly right. Then comes the fifth whisper: faith sees the outcome before the action starts. And Jesus is impressed.

It’ll be five days before another post, but five whispers will echo in my brain until then. How about you?