As Jesus Walked

We spent the last two weeks looking at God’s story and the anti-story, and how those stories have played out, both in the history of the world and in our society today.  We were challenged to consider what story we have bought into, who we are allowing to author our story.  We covered a lot of territory, some of which I plan to revisit down the road.  But today—and for the next week—I want to shift gears and share with you some of my story.

Teach Them Diligently

I had the great privilege of being born into a Christian family. Ever since I can remember, my parents have taught me about God, His word, and my need for a Savior.  When I was very young I sat with my parents and doodled on an activity sheet during the sermon; when our church finally got big enough to warrant a Sunday School, I went. For a time. My parents pulled me out when I was in first grade, and I went back to listening to the sermon with the adults.

At the age of five, I accepted Christ as my personal Lord and Savior. I started reading my Bible daily, first with the passion and excitement of a new believer, and then, as time wore on, as more of a duty, something I knew I was supposed to do each day.

When I was three, I started the children’s Scripture memory program our church offered on Sunday evenings. Over the next nine years I would work my way through every regular and extra-credit book and packet of Bible verses the program offered.  And when they ran out of those, I memorized the book of James.

I don’t record this to brag on myself.  I’m truly grateful for the hundreds of Bible verses I memorized when I was younger, as I remember many of them to this day. But other than that, I couldn’t care less now about how many awards and trophies and pins I got over those nine years.

As involved as I was in memorizing Scripture, and even though I sat in church each Sunday and took notes on the sermons, and even though I read my Bible on a daily basis, there was no passion in my walk with Christ. I was drifting through my relationship with Him, not putting out a lot of effort.

And, frankly, I was comfortable with it being that way.

That The World May Know

Then, in the spring of my sophomore year of high school my family began watching a series of DVDs called That the World May Know, by Ray Vander Laan, as part of our morning devotions. Over the course of the following months we would work our way through the seven DVDs that were then available (the series now numbers twelve). For me, what began as an obligation, part of my morning routine, began something quite different.

By the end of the very first episode I knew that RVL (as he likes to be called) was on to something. He talked about the Bible in a way I’d never heard it talked about. He skipped the popular touristy places and went to the places where the Bible actually happened. Small towns, out-of-the-way mountainsides, deserted wildernesses—it felt as if we were really there.

We worked our way steadily through the first five DVDs, and my appreciation for the land of the Bible grew with each teaching session. RVL used the land and culture of the Bible to draw lessons from the Bible, things we as westerners miss because we don’t live in the land that the Bible was originally written in.

But something happened when we hit the sixth DVD. RVL himself changed. There was a fire in his eyes and a passion in his voice that hadn’t been there before. And set against the backdrop of the ruins of Korazin, one of the towns Jesus ministered in frequently when He walked the earth, RVL taught us what it meant to be a disciple of Christ.

Discipleship

Pulling from the model of discipleship that Jesus used with His disciples—and which was common in the culture of the day – RVL said that a disciple (talmid, in Hebrew) was someone who wanted to BE what the rabbi WAS. A disciple in that time was someone who was so passionately consumed with like their rabbi that they would give everything to follow him, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. How else could he possibly know what his rabbi was like, what he should be striving for?[mfn]For a more detailed explanation of the biblical rabbi/discipleship model check out this article: Rabbi and Talmidim[/mfn]

Then RVL asked a question that really made me think: are YOU a disciple? He continued by saying that he wasn’t looking for the “Yeah, I believe in Jesus” kind of answer. The modern evangelical church has hijacked the word “disciple” and turned it into something that we automatically are if we claim to be Christians. But in the biblical culture, discipleship was something quite different. It was a choice. As is explained in the article I linked to above, very few men who wanted to be disciples actually achieved their goal, simply because very few had the the dedication and intense passion rabbis were looking for. There was no shame if they failed to pass the discipleship test.

RVL said that it was possible—no, it was probable—that if we are not consumed with everything we have, with a passion that pushes us deep into the Text, we cannot call ourselves disciples in the biblical sense.

I knew two things almost immediately. First, according to that definition, I wasn’t a disciple…not by a long shot. Second, I wasn’t willing to put out that kind of effort to become a disciple.

Over the course of the next two years I would watch those DVDs twice more, and each time I was struck to the core by RVL’s call to passionate, intense discipleship. His paraphrase of 1 John 2:6 was with me constantly: “He who wants to follow Jesus must walk as Jesus walked.”

But I still wasn’t there yet. I wasn’t willing to give up my comfortable complacency, throw caution to the wind, and walk solely and irrevocably as Jesus walked. I think I knew, deep down, that once I did there would be no turning back. As Jesus said, “No one, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.”[mfn]Luke 9:62, NKJV[/mfn]

Space for God

God continued to work on me, and I slowly softened, but was still wavering in my final commitment. Finally, in November of 2009 my family and I were able to go see RVL in person at a conference nearby. For two days I had the privilege of sitting under his teaching. I soaked in every word and took copious notes.

He challenged us to consider whether we have space for God in our lives. Not space for God for ten minutes each morning, or an hour and a half on Sunday morning, and an hour on Wednesday night. Those things are good, and necessary, and if you’re doing any or all of them…keep it up! But there’s more.

God wants us to have space for Him in everything. Period. But He doesn’t force Himself on us or elbow His way into our hearts. He wants us to create the space for Him to fill. If we don’t create the space, He can’t fill it. And sometimes, creating the space means giving something up.

Surrender

This was the final straw. On that November weekend in I surrendered everything and committed to following Christ as a disciple, to not hold anything back. I resolved to make space for God in every area of my life, not just when and where it was most convenient for me.

Unlike the rabbi-discipleship model of the first century, being a disciple isn’t an option for us as believers. John didn’t write, “He who feels so inclined must try to walk as Jesus walked.” No. It’s an imperative command: “He who says he abides in Him ought himself also to walk just as He walked.”[mfn]1 John 2:6[/mfn] John doesn’t leave us an out.

Over three years later, I still feel as if I’ve just begun the incredible journey of walking as Jesus walked. I don’t have everything figured out. Nor has it been easy. There are days when I fail miserably, when my selfish, fleshly desires squeeze into the space I should have reserved for God.

But I do know one thing for sure and for certain: that in order to be a disciple you (and I’m writing first and foremost to the person who looks back at me in the mirror every morning) must be totally sold out for the Rabbi, with a passion that pushes you deep into the Text, with a fire in your gut that says nothing is too much, there is nothing you won’t do, and nowhere you won’t go to be like Him.

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