Disciples vs. Christians

After reading some excerpts from Dallas Willard today, I am faced with a new question. Am I a disciple of Jesus Christ? It's extremely easy to call myself a Christian. It has become such a loosely defined term that, while it can bring up strong negative stereotypes for some, generally doesn't cause much offense or reaction. Most people would loosely consider someone a Christian if they go to church, believe in Jesus and try to be a good person. Obviously, from within the church, arguments will arise about who's really in and who's really out, but that's not exactly what has my internal wheels spinning. Willard mentioned that the word Christian is mentioned 3 times in the New Testament and the word disciple is used over 250 times (and when Christian is used, it is always referring to those disciples). Am I really a disciple of Jesus?

There's something to the word disciple, as opposed to Christian, that makes me hesitate just a bit before claiming I am one. I want to be honest with myself and have integrity between what I say and how I live, so the question becomes then, what is a true disciple of Jesus Christ? Am I really attempting to live every day, every moment to be more like Jesus? Have I really surrendered my will and dreams and reputation, to be willing and obedient to anything and everything that Jesus is asking me to do? Or is Jesus an add-on to my life? Is God and Christianity just a hobby? A lifestyle? A luxury? An emotional crutch for when life gets tough? A vending machine to dispense blessings and safety and comfort on my life?

I don't want to assume that Jesus is Lord of my life if I'm not actively seeking to be obedient in everything. It's easy for me, growing up in church for so long, to call myself a Christian and just go about doing what I've learned are "Christian things". While there are all kinds of variations on what being a "Christian" in this culture means, being a "disciple" of Jesus Christ seems to have more weight to it; it sounds more costly. Something you can't fake, something beyond a label. Maybe we don't have anything similar in our culture to draw an analogy from, but as I understand it from basic first-century Judaism, being a disciple was this immersing experience of becoming an apprentice of someone, training and learning to become just like them. Generally speaking, it's easy to become a Christian—say a prayer that acknowledges you truly believe some specific truths from the Bible, particularly that God saves us by His grace, and you can call yourself a Christian. I know that there is more to it than that, so please don't misunderstand. I'm speaking broadly across how evangelical Christianity is presented. Being a disciple, on the other hand, is hardly talked about. We tell people they can escape hell, but we don't tell them the high cost of what it means to follow Christ on a daily basis. Maybe that's because we aren't paying that high cost ourselves? Do we really know what it means to be a disciple of Jesus Christ?

I guess what is convicting and challenging to me is understanding that becoming a disciple is a choice and a commitment. At times in my life, I wonder if God is just another voice of authority, as opposed to THE voice of authority in my life. Have I really committed to listening to, obeying, trusting, pursuing God first? Do all my choices and actions stem from that first allegiance? Or do I only obey when it is convenient?

I don't feel guilt-ridden as I type this. This feels more like being on a wide path, and glancing to the left and seeing this really narrow path that goes off into the woods. Something in me knows that true freedom and joy and peace and a meaningful life is not found on the wide, easy road of Christianity—the version of it where you're basically just a nice person who goes to a church and believes in Jesus. I feel like I've been living that life, walking that path for most of my journey through Christianity, and I'm just beginning to wonder if the abundant life that Jesus offers requires a true dying to myself, taking up my cross and following Jesus out of the Christian bubble and into a life characterized by deep devotion to Jesus Christ, above and before anything and everything else.

Ruts, Routine and Relationship

Just read an article over on Relevant Magazine, entitled "How To Get Out of A Devotional Rut" and it was one of those moments where you have the decision to write it off as coincidence or see it as a loving God communicating to you what you needed to hear.

The article referenced Jesus' words from John 5:39, 40:

"You study the Scriptures diligently because you think that in them you possess eternal life. These are the very Scriptures that testify about me, yet you refuse to come to me to have life. "

Ouch. Approaching Scripture because of what I can "get out of it". Assessing its value based on whether or not it "works" or "did anything when I read it". The whole thing is convicting, though potentially so life-giving. The ruts seem to come often for me, when I finish reading a book or some study, and then don't know where to read next. My arrogance and familiarity with the Bible leave me complaining, "I've read it all before, and it didn't...", insert whatever there. Didn't make me holy. Didn't solve my problems. Didn't heal my pain. Didn't tell me what to do in a specific situation. It's no wonder that the ruts are so hard to get out of. If I am approaching the Bible because I think I'm supposed to read it, or thinking it's a magic self-help book to spiritual enlightenment, I'm doomed to fall into the same patterns. I think I've approached the Bible much too pragmatically, as if it's the handbook for proper Christian behavior. And once you've been living in Christian circles for years, read the Bible for decades, if behavior modification was the goal, then yeah, there's no reason for continuing reading it. If I understand the rules of baseball, I don't need to keep re-reading the rulebook. I know when I don't follow the rules or make an error. But once you've read the rules, the rulebook isn't necessary, except for occasionally glancing back to when unique situations present themselves and it isn't instantly clear what the rule is. But maybe, just maybe, the Bible was never intended to be a book of rules.

All bets are off if the Bible is more than that. Relationships are unpredictable, spontaneous and require attention and care to preserve and maintain. I know there isn't a formula, or a specific set of questions to ask, but I wonder if it would be help to begin every encounter with Scripture with asking God to reveal Himself, and to end every reading with reflection and meditation on how what we've just read shapes or refines who we understand God to be. Not approaching the Bible for a new principle to apply to help us arrive spiritually, not looking for better defenses against bad theology, not looking for a spiritual pick-me-up when we've had a hard week, but instead, coming to the Bible hungry to just know a little bit more about this God who created us and loves us deeply and longs for us to be close with Him.

I know I have fallen into the routine of reading, the rut of being too familiar with the Bible and losing sight of finding Christ in it. This article was meat in due season, as a good friend says. I'm convicted, encouraging and excited to read the Bible with this renewed perspective...

The Foundations of Our Faith—Part 2: Fear of Commitment

As I've continued to read in "God in the Dark" by Os Guinness, I've become stuck. The last chapter I read, about a particular type of doubt that can creep into a believer's life, has given me some kind of epiphany and I don't feel like I can keep reading without processing and doing something with what I've read.

The chapter was about the type of doubt that arises from a lack of commitment. Guinness gave the illustration of a contract that has been drawn up, all the terms outlined and explained. Everything is ready to go, except for the one thing that makes it binding—a signature. He said that without the conviction and confidence of aligning yourself to what you believe, what you are reasonably convinced of as the truth about reality, a certain type of doubt creeps in that paralyzes you. As I thought about that more, I realized that this chapter hit the nail on the head for me. I was exposed. I've been a typically indecisive, go-with-the-flow kind of person for a long time. I thought that was merely a character trait, an aspect of my personality. But I'm realizing that it's a subtle form of fear. I've been afraid to want anything, afraid to choose, afraid to commit. The "what ifs" have controlled my life. What if she doesn't like me back? What if they think it was a dumb idea? What if no one else is on board? What if I try this and fail? What if I give it everything I have and what I have isn't enough? And so, to somehow remove myself from the responsibility of choosing, deceiving myself into thinking I'd be immune from the effects, I began to let life happen to me. I'm not sure when that happened, if it was a particular situation or a pattern that formed. Either way, I started preferring that other people make decisions for me, trusting their wisdom, their motives, their vision. Along the way, I think I lost sight of who I was, with only a vague echo of discontentment bouncing around the edges of my personality. Something's been missing...

It's been pretty eye-opening.

I see this playing out in my faith in God (as the book primarily deals with), but also in dating relationships, friendships, career choices, etc. In areas of spirituality, I've leaned heavily to the side of grace, at the expense of truth at times, because truth scared me and it's much less confrontational to be gracious. Claiming to know the truth, rather, is what scared me. There's the chance I'd be wrong. To avoid that chance, succumbing to a false sense of humility, I preferred to have an "open mind" and say, "I think" rather than "I know". Eventually, that feels wishy-washy and powerless. There's nothing solid to stand on or give to people.

In relationships, it reared its head with the ever-present question, "Is this really what I want?" and most of the time, I knew the answer was "no", but couldn't get out from under the guilt of having entered a relationship without really being able to say that I knew that I wanted to be in it and pursuing it. I'm deeply grateful to be experiencing real freedom in this area... I'd get so crippled with anxiety and fear, unable to tell where the confusion was coming from. It was because I was afraid to choose! Afraid to be rejected or dumped, or afraid to be the one to break a heart... which, turns out, you can break hearts much more deeply when you aren't internally committed to the girl you're dating. Not that I cheated on any of them ever, but the hurt that I caused when suddenly everything they thought was true about what I wanted and how I felt toward them evaporated, when my internal confusion was exposed, there's a deep betrayal there that is pretty near crushing. And I never could figure out why it happened... I'd just try harder to be a "better boyfriend" next time... when the issue was just that I wasn't allowing my heart to be open and honest with how I felt, inwardly "committing" to it by allowing myself to feel and think it, rather than trying to keep it all loose and tentative... It's really cool to be seeing God transforming this area of my life already...

I'm not going to keep going into all the various ways I can see this affecting things. I feel as though I've turned a corner. My prayers feel more intentional and dependent, asking God for the clarity and wisdom to see my options, but then have the courage and trust in His grace and love to make decisions without fear, and then see them through. Keeping an open-mind is a great thing, but in the words of... someone that Guinness quoted in the chapter, the open mind is like an open mouth and it was intended to close on something solid.

I think there's a subtle strain of divine distrust in many Christian circles. There's a fear of God that is taught and practiced that alludes to God as a vindictive judge, waiting to strike us down when we step out of line or mess up. I'm not saying God is a senile grandfather and it doesn't matter what we do, but I'm beginning to believe deeply that God is a loving Father, who desires His children to trust His love for them and wants them to play well together, create and explore the beautiful backyard—build forts, make up imaginary games, and scribble outside the lines to make refrigerator art—not cower in fear of doing the wrong thing, to the point of paralysis... If we trusted this was God's heart toward us, I think we'd spend less time wringing our hands to find "God's will for our lives" and spend more time enjoying life, loving the faces right in front of us and spend a lot more time whispering prayers of thanks for life and beauty and friendships and love. We'd be less imprisoned by people's disapproval of us, less threatened by the fear of failure and full of a freedom and courage that would seem really compelling and attractive to a world that seems to be so scared and afraid to be themselves.

I know I have a lot to learn, but I'm grateful for this realization. I'm looking forward to seeing the fruit that comes with trusting God more deeply, fearing things less and learning to live and love with freedom, confidence and the commitment of knowing what is true, to the best of my ability with the knowledge I have so far, and living from that...