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Five Surprising Things About Discipleship

When I served larger churches, I never really understood what discipleship was. If someone had told me I had to do it, as a minister over hundreds I would have replied, “I don’t have time to do that!”

But as I planted a church, I began opening my life to the people who joined us. I started meeting them to talk about their lives, giving them advice, praying with them through struggles, and pointing out scriptural guidance to apply to their lives.

I did this organically, simply to meet the needs I saw. It was only later when other pastors asked, “What’s your discipleship strategy?” I realized discipleship was what I’d been doing all along, without ever really making myself do it.

Most of us realize Discipleship was Jesus’ model for leadership and spiritual growth. But here are a few of the things I hadn’t noticed about it until doing it from scratch…

Discipleship is messy

There’s a friend from my hometown I’ve known since Middle School. We were catching up over coffee a few years back when he dropped a bomb on me: his wife of 20+ years, the mother of his kids, was leaving him for another man. He was devastated, trying not to cry. As we talked I realized his life was about to be irrevocably ripped in pieces. 

As I listened, he shared things he’d done wrong in the marriage and habits that had been detrimental. There was nothing deserving of a divorce, but he knew these problems made things worse. He asked me if we could restart our old friendship, and if I would keep him accountable regarding those habits.

As a pastor, I counsel lots of people. But this was more. This was not just responding to what someone tells you, but choosing to be proactive in their spiritual life. I would have to risk offending him at times, and saying uncomfortable things. We would talk about personal, even intimate details I might not really want to know about him.

And yet this is exactly what Jesus calls us to do.

If you choose to disciple people, things may get awkward, even gross at times. But without going into the mess of people’s lives, it’s not really discipleship.

Discipleship can be a power trip

I remember a guy who approached me once in college. 

“Dave, I’ve been watching you”. 

Even though the concept of stalkers wasn’t known then, that still seemed a bit creepy.

“I can tell you’re trying to grow in the Lord. So I would like to start discipling you. How ‘bout it?”

My response was an evasive “I’ll pray about that…”, followed by a quick exit, stage right.

While I’m sure he thought he was being generous with me, I found his offer to be more than a bit arrogant. Without already having a friendship established with me, he was saying in effect:

“I perceive you as less spiritual than I. In fact, I am super spiritual. You’d be wise to sit at my feet and drink from the wisdom of my spiritual journey.”

You’d have to have a pretty low self esteem to respond to that offer. But that’s the way some people approach discipleship.

Real discipleship is never supposed to be about one-way growth. Even when there is a clear “Paul” (teacher) and “Timothy” (learner) in the relationship, it’s still supposed to work both ways. Only when Jesus was the one discipling did the teacher have nothing He could glean from the learner. 

The Biblical way is “iron sharpens iron”, and both people are better off for the relationship. As obvious as that sounds, I must guard against being the guy who thinks that just because of my age or experience, I have nothing left to learn. 

That’s pride, and spiritual pride leads to spiritual abuse. So check yourself and your motives when seeking to disciple others.

Discipleship guards against “fluffy church growth”

We’ve seen a huge drop off in church attendance in the past few years. And I can’t help but think it’s partly due to a lack of discipleship.

People attend our churches, but never get past the Sunday morning sermon. Their spiritual growth stagnates. Then they either get mad at the pastor, dropping the old “I’m not being fed spiritually” claim on their way out the door, as if the sermon was supposed to be their only nourishment. Or they figured they’ve just failed as a Christian and give up coming since nothing has changed in their lives.

This is where small groups and one-on-one discipleship could’ve cemented their relationship with Christ and put them on a growth trajectory. Instead, they flame out early and leave.

Many churches only focus on Sunday morning as “the big event”. The service is emotional and energetic, which are two things I actually like in a church. However, the emphasis is on the spiritual hype and not the heavy lifting of following Jesus daily. 

So people come in for the show, and leave when another church puts on a better show. It’s the old “a mile wide and an inch deep” complaint about large churches. And sometimes, it’s completely accurate.

Discipleship is the antidote to closing the “back door” of our churches, and to keep people from walking out.

Discipleship gets more complex in larger churches

Honestly, discipleship is hard work. And when lots of people are already attending a church, it may seem like too much trouble.

In a late church, you have to train leaders in leading others, mentor them in mentoring. So there’s lots of opportunities for things to disintegrate as they go farther down the chain of command.

The way it’s supposed to work is that, as the church grows, the pastor disciples key leaders (staff and lay leaders) who then do the same thing throughout the congregation. But this takes increased discipline for that pastor, since the more the church grows, the more demands there are on his personal time. 

It’s a lot easier just to make it another church program or series of classes. That’s something we can buy curriculum for and schedule. But real discipleship takes time – OUR TIME. We have to pour into people who often fail, and sometimes walk away completely. So since our time is so valuable, some pastors and leaders figure it’s not worth the sacrifice. 

But there is no Plan B. If the leadership doesn’t disciple, the church will not disciple. And there ends the chance of any long-lasting spiritual growth.

Discipleship often works best when it’s informal

I’ve got a friend named Kevin who was a member at a church I planted once. We would meet most every week for coffee outside of church. We’d talk about everything, including spiritual issues at that Starbucks in Florida. When I’d crack a joke, he’d laugh so loud it would cause others to stare at us. It was a bit embarrassing but also fun.

Years later now, we still talk on the phone most every week.. He tells me how his life is going, and I make sure he’s going to church and growing spiritually. But there’s no agenda. It just happens naturally, because we care about each other.

Like so much of Christianity, discipleship is really all about relationships.

As a middle-aged pastor (as if I’m really going to live to be 110), I often notice some of my younger Christian friends going off in directions I know from experience lead to pain. They’ll react to a situation emotionally, not realizing it will only make things worse. I see them digging a ditch for themselves, but often I can do nothing. 

That’s because my knowledge is useless to them without relationship. The only way they’d ever accept my rebuke or exhortation is if they trusted me as their friend. So relationship is the vessel through which wisdom is properly transferred. And if I really care about that person more than their wrong actions, I will work to build that relationship.

Be careful trying to push just one specific system or formal method of discipleship. It happens as many different ways as there are personalities. Discipleship works better if it flows from true caring and true relationship. It’s not as effective when a program creates a false sense of caring or promotes a forced-friendship. 

And oftentimes, it happens best outside the church walls.

In the end, discipleship should look like what Jesus had with His disciples. He spent lots of time with them, spoke spiritual truth into their lives, and corrected them when they were wrong. And between being stuck in boats together during storms and breakfasts on the beach, they had rich experiences and a lot of fun too.

So I guess discipleship looks a whole lot like a great friendship. And who doesn’t want that?

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Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.

Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.