students of jesus

Like any writer, the narcissist in me believes you would enjoy a peek into the book I plan to release this fall, The Impossible Mentor. Advance praise for this book comes from my wife, my children, and the stray cat we keep feeding at the back door. They all agree: this will be the finest book on spiritual formation ever to come out of Campbellsville, Kentucky. Just because these witnesses are deeply biased doesn’t mean they are wrong, it just means they will buy the first thousand copies.

Last week I shared previews from the first two chapters. Today, a bit from the opening of chapter three:

Chapter One: “I’m Not Jesus”
Chapter Two: “You’re Not, Either”

Chapter Three: “Paralyzed By Grace”

A few years ago I had to find another doctor. My previous one couldn’t help me. He was able to diagnose the problem, but not suggest a remedy that would fix things once and for all. I kept going back to him week after week. My appointments began to sound like an old vaudeville routine:

“Your problem is: you’re sick.”

“Of course I’m sick,” I replied. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Have you had this before?” he’d ask.

“You know I’ve had this before. I had it the last time I was here.”

“Well, you’ve got it again.”

I tried demonstrating the problem: “It hurts when I do this.”

“Well, don’t do that.”

“Doctor, is there any hope for me?”

“Of course there is. Take two aspirin. You’ll feel better when you’re dead.”

Of course, I made that up. But many of us have been returning to the same place, year after year, with the same problem. We are offered the same solution and we leave feeling as if there should be a better remedy available, but the professional assures us that we are on the right track. If you haven’t guessed already, the professional is not a doctor but a pastor, and the “doctor’s office” is our regular gathering for church. Many followers of Jesus go to church only to experience what Yogi Berra called “Déjà vu all over again.” We are reminded of our sin and God’s grace toward that sin.

And this is correct. We are sinful: Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross pays the price for our redemption. And, of course, the grace of God should be celebrated and declared by the church. But grace—understood as the one-time event of redemption—is not the sole message the church or the full content of the gospel of the Kingdom of God.

This is the third great challenge facing followers of Jesus today: we have a limited view of God’s grace. The grace of God, a reality greater than the human intellect can gasp and more accessible than the air we breathe has been captured and domesticated for weekly use. Grace--capable of reaching across every culture, every gender, and every generation--has been reduced to mean simply forgiveness for everyone.

The longer I follow Jesus, the more all-encompassing grace becomes. Instead of presenting grace as a repeatable sin-cleansing bargain, the Bible presents a grace that continues to reach into our lives day after day and in more ways than we expect. The Apostle Paul wrote to a young pastor:
The grace of God that brings salvation has appeared to all men. It teaches us to say "No" to ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright and godly lives in this present age, while we wait for the blessed hope - the glorious appearing of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ, who gave himself for us to redeem us from all wickedness and to purify for himself a people that are his very own, eager to do what is good. (Titus 2: 11 – 14 NIV).

Many believers have never heard these verses declared from the pulpit. Grace that appears in the passage with phrases like “self-controlled” or “upright and godly lives?” What kind of grace is this? If grace means getting off scot-free, why is grace appearing to me and teaching me a new way to live? Most believers are very familiar with “the grace that brings salvation,” but not many church-goers have ever heard of a grace that “teaches us to say "No" to ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright and godly lives in this present age.” Most believers are familiar with a saving grace capable of securing heaven after we die, but have never considered the possibility that God’s grace can nurture us in this present age.

Apparently God’s grace is after more than wiping the slate clean week after week. The grace of God wants to teach us a new way to live.

“God loves me just the way I am.” Everyone is comfortable with that statement, but how about this one: “God loves me so much he won’t let me stay just the way I am.” First his grace saves, then it teaches. I think everyone is OK with receiving forgiveness but perhaps we skip school when it comes time to learn how to deny ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live sensible and upright lives. Christians can be forgiven if they are confused at this point: week after we week they are told of the complete work of Jesus on the cross, they are told that there is nothing they can do to earn God’s approval or salvation. Yet they are also encouraged to live holy lives and keep the commandments, to walk in a manner that pleases God. In most pulpits there is a disconnect between the good news of Jesus’ sacrifice and our calling to become the light of the world.

Richard Foster, a man who has spent his adult life encouraging Christians to grow in the grace of God, points out that the message of grace is something more than simply a means for gaining forgiveness. Sadly, many Christians have been taught that any effort lead a holy life right now runs counter to God’s forgiving grace. Many church-goers are told week after week that they are sinners in need of the grace of forgiveness, that their personal efforts are useless, and there is nothing they can do apart from the grace of forgiveness. Hearing the same message week after week, along with the same remedy, they remain in the same place. “Having been saved by grace,” Foster writes, “these people have been paralyzed by it.”

Sarah Bessey writes at www.sarahbessey.com, where she has become an accidental grassroots voice for postmodern and emerging women in the Church on issues from mothering to politics and theology to ecclesiology. Her writing has been well received in many publications including ChurchLeaders.com, Relevant Magazine, A Deeper Story, SheLoves Magazine, and Emergent Village. Sarah also works with Mercy Ministries of Canada, a non-profit residential home for women seeking freedom from life-controlling issues. She is a happy-clappy follower of Jesus and social justice wannabe. Sarah lives in Abbotsford, British Columbia, Canada with her husband, Brian, and their three tinies: Anne, Joseph and Evelynn Joan.

I'm also proud to call her my cyber-pal.

We call my Dad "El-Sha-Dad, The Dad of More Than Enough."

It's a (hopefully not too blasphemous) joke based on one of the names of God from the Bible, El-Shaddai, the God of More Than Enough. My sister started it as a lark, a way to make fun of how he provided for us, but now it's funny because it's so true. My Dad is an incredibly generous man, he loves us fiercely, and because of this, it's been easy for me to see God as a loving Father, my way was made easier because he walked ahead of me. Growing up, I was secure in the knowledge of two things: first, we cheer for the Boston Bruins come hell or high water or Harry Sinden, and, second, no matter what, my Dad loved  me, always had loved me, always would love me, world without end, amen.

I think that's why I always read the Parable of the Prodigal Son a bit differently than most. I mean, I absolutely see myself in the Prodigal Son. We've all taken our inheritance and squandered it horribly. We've all regretted our choices. We've all run away from the ones that love us best. We've all longed to go home. And I also see myself in the Older Brother, too. After all, my standing as a know-it-all is legend in our clan and, like most people that grew up in church, I've confused my work, my right opinions and doctrine, for love and relationship with God.

But even so, for me, this parable is, always has been, always will be about the Father.

The Father that let his son go. The Father that provided for him, even in his sin, in a way that defies logic and reason and parenting manuals. The Father that threw a feast for a broken and defiant rebel. The Father that tried to pull a sulky older brother into the celebration. The Father that has already given everything he had to his children. The Father that celebrated and stocked a party, that welcomed without qualification or expectation of obedience, that didn't bother to hear excuses or reasons before kissing and dancing.

It's the Father's story, really.

I have profoundly disappointed my dad. I have made choices that devastated him. When I stank of slop and lies and wrong choices, legalism and big hairy opinions of how I would do it better than him, there was a realization that my Dad would forgive me. He would forgive me because it was his very nature to love me. He couldn't stop loving me for a moment, no matter how I screwed up, because he had learned to love well at the feet of Jesus. His heart so resembles what I imagine as the heart of Jesus that he carries the scent of a father's grace wherever he walks through my life.

So when I read this parable, even now, today, I cry. I cry every time because I see my Dad in that story. I see my Dad as the Father, running down the road to me, sandals flapping, robe billowing, arms outstretched, half-laughing and half-sobbing, just so happy to see me, to hold me, to love me.

I think sometimes that I'm living in a parable. I don't know really what all it means, but it feels like a story I want to tell, I want people to find God. It makes me want to blaze a path to God for my own tinies, I want to be clear picture for their hearts, a small foretaste of the crazy, unrestrained, unconditional love that they can enjoy in our God, so that when they rebel or turn up their nose or stumble or disappoint, that they know I'll be on the road, that God is already on the road, watching for them when they are still a long way off. I want to have ears to hear and eyes to see what God is showing me. And there is something there, in my Dad, that whispers to me of my Father, of your Father, that truly he's yearning only to hold you, to welcome you, to be with you, to love you, he's already watching for you from a long way off.

Like any writer, the narcissist in me believes you would enjoy a peek into the book I plan to release this fall, The Impossible Mentor. Advance praise for this book comes from my wife, my children, and the stray cat we keep feeding at the back door. They all agree: this will be the finest book on spiritual formation ever to come out of Campbellsville, Kentucky. Just because these witnesses are deeply biased doesn’t mean they are wrong, it just means they will buy the first thousand copies.

This week and next I’ll share the opening passages of the first few chapters. Today, a bit from the opening of Chapter Two:

Chapter One: "I'm Not Jesus!"

Chapter Two: "You're Not, Either"

The class held about thirty students. A class that size guarantees a mix of sleepers, zombies, texters and those rare few who participate in discussion. We had spent the whole hour talking about whether Jesus could have possibly been serious when he said, “Be perfect as your Heavenly Father is perfect.” One student seemed to pay particular attention but hadn’t spoken up once during the period. I decided to draw her into the discussion.

“So we’re just about done for today. Tiffanie, you’ve been listening hard but haven’t offered your opinion. Why don’t you have the last word?”

She shifted in her seat and said, “I don’t know if He was serious, but one thing’s for sure: you’re not Jesus.”

Our inability to connect with Jesus as the model for our lives has two immediate consequences.  First, all other Christian role models pale in comparison to the perfect Son of God.  This means that since no one measures up to the Master, no one is qualified to lead us.  Regarding our own behavior we are tempted to say, “I’m not Jesus.”  When we encounter another believer who could possibly become an example for us the same defense mechanism rises up to say, “You’re not, either.”  Second, because earthly mentors are fallible we have trained ourselves to keep our guard up, to remain at a distance.  There are too many examples of fallen Christian leaders.  We are determined not to be drawn into a close relationship with those who could nurture us into Christlikeness, because they could also let us down.  So we end up with no role models at all.

Beware the pastor who plays on your church-league softball team.  Or basketball.  Or horseshoes.  You will discover that your pastor has character flaws like the Jordan River, deep and wide.  If he is athletic he is likely to be considered too competitive, and if he is not athletic he likely doesn’t take the game seriously enough.  We started a church softball team at our church in order to encourage the value of community--and ended up losing two families by the end of the season!

If we have difficulty embracing the flawless Son of God as our life coach, then an accessible human mentor would seem to be just the ticket.  Unfortunately Christian leaders are at a real disadvantage when compared to Jesus.  Not only is Jesus perfect, he also isn’t here.  That means we are left with imperfect leaders whose flaws are available daily for inspection.  Most people will pay lip service to the idea that there is “no perfect leader,” but when the flaws begin to show through, lip service gives way to disappointment, hurt feelings, and criticism. This is the second challenge to taking the yoke that Jesus offers.  The Christian who hears the call to discipleship is faced with two difficult choices in looking for a mentor.  First, Jesus is the Impossible Mentor; second, most Christian leaders are Unqualified Mentors.  The church is left with no mentors at all.

Over the decades I discovered that most youth leaders and pastors were unwilling to step forward and suggest that they can teach people how to become conformed to the image of Christ.  In church after church the substance of sermon after sermon was either our need for a savior or our responsibilities to live up to the commandments we find in the Bible.  The “how to” of Christian living was strangely missing.

Then, one day, almost by accident, I came across an amazing statement by the Apostle Paul.  It startled me because it was so different from what I was used to hearing in church.  This man, Paul, said: “Be imitators of me, just as I also am of Christ.”  (I Corinthians 11: 1)  Paul seemed to be confident in his relationship with Jesus.  Although he once referred to himself as “the worst of sinners,” he claimed to know what was required to follow Jesus and invited people to imitate his actions.  Instantly I knew I needed exactly this: someone to imitate.  Jesus was still the goal, but Paul was someone who did something more than simply point to the goal.  He told the Corinthians, "Here. I'll show you how."

How many Christians (or even leaders in the church) make such statements today?  I suspect that many people would consider Paul’s words boastful if they heard someone else say them.  Yet this is exactly what Jesus instructed his followers in the Great Commission when he charged his disciples with making more disciples, and to “teach them to observe everything I have commanded you.” (Matthew 28: 20)  I believe this is the second challenge for those who want to become followers of Jesus.  We have a gospel that promotes forgiveness and exalts Jesus as Savior.  We have Biblical language that exalts Jesus as Lord.  We do not, however, have much of an idea about how to make disciples who will actually become like Jesus.

Like any writer, the narcissist in me believes you would enjoy a peek into the book I plan to release this fall, The Impossible Mentor. Advance praise for this book comes from my wife, my children, and the stray cat we keep feeding at the back door. They all agree: this will be the finest book on spiritual formation ever to come out of Campbellsville, Kentucky. Just because these witnesses are deeply biased doesn’t mean they are wrong, it just means they will buy the first thousand copies.

This week and next I’ll share the opening passages of the first few chapters. Today, a bit from the opening of chapter one:

Chapter One: "I'm Not Jesus"

I knew it was a mistake as soon as the words left my mouth. Sitting in my office was a young man who had been cheated out of $200 by someone else in the church. Both men attended our church, and one guy really did owe the other $200. But the guilty party wasn’t in the office, the other guy was--and he was full of anger and frustration because of his loss. That’s when I made my hasty suggestion:

“You could forgive him his debt,” I suggested. “Jesus told us to do just that.”

Big mistake.

“Well I’m not Jesus!” he nearly shouted back at me.

End of discussion, end of ministry time, end of opportunity to take the yoke Jesus offers. It was my mistake. Not for suggesting a perfectly Biblical remedy to his anger and frustration, but for expressing the solution in such a way that he would consider it impossible.

It’s impossible to be like Jesus, isn’t it? Jesus was perfect. He led a sinless life. He was God-come-to-earth and his life sets the bar impossibly high for any of us.

I believe that the central problem in nurturing followers of Jesus in North America is our view of Jesus as the Impossible Mentor.

It’s a paradox: nearly everyone is willing to acknowledge Jesus as a worthy role model, but almost no one seriously believes it is possible to live up to his example. Our esteem for Jesus’ life of obedience to the Father and our desire to be “just like Jesus” does battle with the deep-seated notion that it is impossible to be like him. Who would choose a mentor who is impossible to imitate?

Some passages in the Scripture inspire fill us with confidence. Some light the fires of hope in our hearts. Other passages seem too idealistic, too fantastic to find their way into even our dreams, much less our daily lives: “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) Is this possible? Does God really look at each one of us and see a destiny in which we look like Jesus?

Whatever our theological foundations regarding this passage we should all recognize that it is about God’s intention for each of one us--to become “conformed to the likeness of his Son.” Simply put, God desires to have more children like Jesus. Jesus is God’s only begotten Son, but we become his sons and daughters by adoption. The destiny of those adopted into the family of God is that we, too, should bear the family likeness. That is: we will look just like Jesus.

In a conversation with a dozen young Christians this week, I asked them if they felt it was possible to live a life without sin for even one day. No takers. So I rephrased the question and asked if it is possible to go for an hour without sinning. Only one of them thought it was possible to stay within the will of God for a single hour.

These questions are not academic. They go to the heart of our life “in Christ.” If our intuition tells us that following His example is impossible, for one day or even an hour, how can we have the confidence to pursue his vision for us? The bottom line is that God has a greater vision for what is possible in our lives than we do. Perhaps the reason the Apostle Paul instructs us later in Romans to “be transformed by the renewing of your minds” is so we can see the possibilities of a life lived in harmony with Jesus. A practical, day-to-day moment-by-moment harmony capable of generating the rest and peace he promises.

Let me encourage you to ponder the foundations of your commitment to be a disciple of Jesus. Here are a few suggestions for meditation and prayer:

• Is it possible to learn from him?
• If Jesus is my mentor, have I committed myself to failure with no possibility of success?
• What kind of Master would invite me to be his apprentice if he thought there was no possibility to follow in his footsteps?

The answers spoken from our heart will determine whether discipleship is possible.

Most of us are keenly aware of the qualities we lack as followers of Jesus. We possess the assurance of our weakness instead of the assurance of his faithfulness. The very first believers knew little of such introspection because they directed their gaze toward Jesus. They saw him flash like lightning in the dark sky of human effort. The more clearly they saw him, the more they discovered that his overwhelming love empowered them to become like him.

Here’s how Peter explained it:

His divine power has given us everything we need for life and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness. Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature and escape the corruption in the world caused by evil desires. For this very reason, make every effort . . . ~ 2 Peter 1: 3-5

When I read this passage years ago it flashed like lightning across my heart. I am still thunderstruck by these amazing words.
• “His divine power . . .” As followers of Jesus, our everyday life in Christ is based upon his divine power, not our human strength. Where should we fix our attention--our lack or his supply? The life we live reveals the answer of our hearts.
• “. . . has given us everything we need for life and godliness . . .” When was the last time anyone told you that you have everything you need? The beauty of “life and godliness” are within our reach, and has been ever since the resurrection. It’s not a “legal fiction,” it’s a present reality.
• “. . . through our knowledge of him . . .” This is a modern road block—our western mindset leads us to believe that the knowledge of him comes through mere study. His first followers knew better: the only true knowledge of him comes as we experience his presence. Apart from his presence we are only spiritual historians.
• “. . . his own glory and goodness. . . ” Who talks these days about “glory and goodness?” 21st century Americans have difficulty understanding the glory of God, yet this glory has been streaming live into creation from the very beginning. And his goodness? We walk in that goodness everyday, most of us unaware of this never-ending supply. He is good beyond all measure. Better yet: his glory and goodness are directed toward us!
• “. . . He has given us very great and precious promises . . .” Do we ever reflect upon his promises? Seriously: how many can you name? I’m afraid that for most of us his promises are like autumn leaves: beautiful, but not very useful.
• “. . . So that through them you may participate in the divine nature . . .” Here is where the lightning flash knocked me over. We can participate in God’s nature, right here, right now. Who knows the full meaning of this phrase? Not me, but  whatever it means, it has to be good!
• “. . . and escape the corruption in the world caused by evil desires . . . “ Many believers think the gospel is only about forgiveness, but the good news is even better: corruption is the legacy of a dying world, but we are a new creation.

And still there remains one more. It’s not enough to know. We must walk.

“For this very reason, make every effort . . .” Notice that effort comes after we encounter his divine power, his glory and goodness, and his precious promises. Too many disciples of Jesus--serious in their commitment to follow him--believe that their effort comes first. Instead, our effort is a response to all he has done: a joyful, grateful, confident recognition of his kindness toward us.

The challenge of this passage continues into verses 5–11, and it is a dangerous challenge at that. The danger of these next verses is that we believe we can accomplish the list apart from his divine power, his glory and goodness, and his precious promises. Only a fool would attempt to fulfill the chain of virtues by human effort alone.

We need the lightning to illuminate the dark landscape of our hearts. We need the thunder to ring in our ears and shake our dead skeletons. We need power, glory, goodness, and promise before we take a step. Fortunately, he still thunders forth from heaven.