Have you ever had that lost feeling, the feeling of drifting along lost at sea disconnected from any kind of great community? Sometimes I feel like I am wandering, figuring this life out on my own. There are signposts for sure, books I read or teachers I learn from, but when I put the book down or finish the podcast I am left alone once again.

I love the United States. I am grateful for all it has given me, but our lack of deep traditions can frustrate me. And what traditions we do have tend to be shallow. They lack the weight of a practice observed by a community over a long period of time. It seems being a “melting pot” has left us lacking a unified cultural identity. Or does our fierce individualism buck against the idea of sharing a common identity?

When I see a Mexican family celebrating a Quinceañera or a Jewish boy preparing for his bar mitzvah, I can’t help but feel I am missing out. Have you ever felt that, a feeling of being lost or disconnected from a great community?

I long for a deeper connection to my roots. I want to feel more connected to those who came before me, and I want to be more connected to the rest of the world. I want to belong to a community greater than myself. Can you relate?

Last week I began reading a book that caused me to feel this more acutely, and then left me feeling silly for not realizing the answer has been in front of me all along.

Joan Chittister is a Benedictine nun. She is has written a number of fantastic books, but recently have I discovered one that is quickly becoming my favorite, The Liturgical Year: The Spiraling Adventure of the Spiritual Life. Chittister reminds me that I am connected to a deep tradition, a group of people stretching back thousands of years.

“A good spiritual life connects us to where we come from, even in the midst of where we are now. It gives us roots. It carries a tradition on its back. It ties us to the past in a way that enables us to know who we are in the present. It is the place we never really leave because being there together is what makes us who we are today.”

This just happens to come from the section of the book about Lent, the time on the Christian calendar we are entering now. Lent is a season that connects us to who we are. On Ash Wednesday we are reminded of the truth from Genesis that we were formed from dust, and we are reminded of our humanity, that to dust we will return.

Though we enter this season in mourning, the root of the word Lent is “spring.” Lent is ultimately a season of renewal. It reminds us that just as the seed falls to the ground to die (Could it fall any farther?), it is in dying that new life is born.

“Lent is one of those elements of Christian practice that binds the Christian community to one another and to its beginnings. It ties us to the core of us that is not transient, that is not changing, that does not fail us. Lent gives the lie to isolation. We are not alone. We walk with the church throughout the world on this journey to renewal. We walk, too, with the One who has gone before us to bring us home again… Every year the Sundays of Lent plunge us into the center of the faith, reminding us of who we are and who we must become.”

I don’t know about you, but this is a vision of Lent I want to be a part of. I wonder if you would join me. Will you join the community of disciples around the world from different Christian traditions that will be engaging this ancient practice?

Intentional discipleship is surrendering to the Father's will and walking in Jesus' presence.

So how do we live the life of an intentional disciple?  How do we stay connected to Jesus when he is not bodily present with us like he was with his first disciples?  The answer is the spiritual discipline, or practices.  If you read last week’s post, it may seem like I am writing in circles, but I am trying to make a subtle but important distinction in the way we see view the disciplines.  A spiritual practice is anything that connects us to the vine, keeps us connected, or identifies and roots out obstacles to connectedness.

The practices themselves are not discipleship.  The practices do not change us.  What they do is connect us to the vine, ushering us into his presence.  They connect us to the source of transformation.  Reading Scripture is one such practice.  When we engage Scripture, we open ourselves up to experience transformation in our lives, but it is not the reading that transforms us, it is the connection to the vine that the reading promotes that brings transformation into our lives.

This gives us a different perspective of the disciplines.  We don’t do them because we should – though we should.  We don’t do them for transformation – though they lead to transformation.  We engage in spiritual practices because they connect us to the vine, and God uses that connection to transform us.  In other words, the disciplines cultivate the characteristics of connectedness and make us aware of and help root out characteristics that obstruct connectedness.

The transformation we experience in our connection to the vine is not an instantaneous experience.  It is an ongoing process.  This is why we hear people refer to the Christian life as a journey.  There is no magic pill or six easy steps to transformation.  It is only abiding in his presence that brings real, honest, and true transformation.  The point of intentional discipleship is not to act a certain way or follow a certain set of guidelines.  The point is to become the kind of people who act a certain way.  I don’t want to be someone who tries really hard to not sin.  I want to be the kind of person whose desires and inner direction keeps me off the dark path of sin.

Intentional discipleship is surrendering to the Father's will and walking in Jesus’ presence. 

My last post looked at Jesus the Rabbi and how a first century disciple sat at the master’s feet longing to take on his character.  In John 15:1-8 Jesus uses a vine and branches as a metaphor for what it means to be a disciple of Jesus.

I am the true vine, my Father is the gardener.  He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.  You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you.  Remain in me, and I will remain in you.  No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine.  Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.  I am the vine; you are the branches.  If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.  If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown in the fire and burned.  If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you.  This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.

Notice what Jesus is telling us to do.  We are to remain in him, stay close to him.  If we do that we will bear fruit, and if we are bearing fruit, we give glory to God and show ourselves to be his disciples.  The mark of a disciple is the bearing of fruit.  Bearing fruit comes only from abiding in Jesus.  Therefore, a disciple must abide in him.

We may not be able to physically follow Jesus like the Apostles, but we can abide in his transforming presence through the Holy Spirit.  This is the heart of intentional discipleship.  It is not trying really hard or even doing a specific practice or set of practices.  The heart of intentional discipleship is remaining constantly connected to the vine.  We will need to try hard, and we will certainly engage in spiritual practices.  But our effort and the spiritual practices we engage in are merely tools.  Intentional discipleship is the connection, the stem connecting us to the vine.  Let me say that again.

Doing spiritual practices is NOT the essence of intentional discipleship.  The essence of intentional discipleship is remaining deeply connected to Jesus.

Intentional discipleship is surrendering to the Father's will and walking in Jesus’ presence.

For a disciple, time in the teacher’s presence is vital, because it is in his presence that the disciple learns to do what the teacher does. You could compare the disciple to the modern day apprentice.  Some things are taught in an apprenticeship because they are best learned in the field alongside a master. We could learn about building a house or wiring a home in a classroom.  We could probably learn about these things by reading a book, attending a seminar, watching a video, or listening to a podcast, but none of these methods match the depth of learning experienced in an apprenticeship.

The apprentice learns directly from a master in the midst of real life as he watches the master in action.  The classroom is sanitary, but the real world is messy.  The apprentice has the opportunity to observe the master responding to the unexpected, the bumps, and the messiness of real life.

These same characteristics are present in the relationship of the rabbi and his disciples.  The rabbi’s disciple learns from him in the midst of everyday life, not the classroom.  He doesn’t tell his students how to live; he shows them.  He doesn’t teach about theoretical pain.  He teaches in the midst of pain.  He doesn’t teach about dealing with an imaginary enemy, he demonstrates it as he responds to an enemy.

There is a saying in the Mishnah that reads, “Let your home be a meeting-house for the sages, and cover yourself in the dust of their feet, and drink in their words thirstily.”  In the first century a rabbi might travel from town to town teaching in people’s homes.  The roads they walked were dry and dirty, so their feet had a tendency to get caked with dust.

This blessing encourages the reader to sit at the rabbi’s feet as he teaches, drinking in his words as if they were water to a dry and thirsty soul.  But what if we take the meaning a little further?  What if the dust on his feet is a metaphor for the long and many roads he has walked in his life.  What if the dust represents the experiences and lessons he has learned as he journeyed with God?  In other words, could the dust of the rabbi’s feet represent his life and his wisdom?  This is the essence of intentional discipleship, taking on the character of Jesus as we walk closely with him.

Intentional discipleship is surrendering to the will of the Father.

The first of AA’s twelve steps is to admit you are powerless to bring about change in your life, and the second step goes hand in hand with it, to believe there is a “higher power” who is able to facilitate the change you desire. These are also the first two steps in the life of a disciple.  We must be willing to admit that we are powerless to plant and cultivate the seeds of kingdom life in our own hearts, and we must submit to the only one who can.  By choosing to be a disciple, a student, we admit that we need to be taught.  Without this beginning in humility and surrender, the fullness of the abundant kingdom life will elude us. Humble submission to the creator of the universe is the foundation of intentional discipleship.

Surrender is a recurring theme in Jesus’ teaching. Over and over he teaches that clinging too tightly to our own ways will prevent us from experiencing the kingdom life.  He says, “No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to one and despise the other.” (Mt 6:24) He tells one rich man that his attachment to wealth is keeping him from the kingdom (Mark 10:17-22), and he turns away three would be followers in Luke 9:57-62 because they are unwilling to give their whole lives to be disciples.  Over and over Jesus confronts the divided loyalty of people, and over and over he says they cannot follow him without full devotion.

If we are going to enter the kingdom of God, we must be willing to leave our own kingdoms.  Land is a part of one state or another, one country or another.  There are no overlapping territories, and the same is true in the kingdom of God.  As long as I insist on living in my kingdom, I will not enter the kingdom of God.  There is an incredible home for each of us in the kingdom, but for some reason we keep paying rent on the dilapidated studio in our own kingdom.  As long as we do, the beautiful kingdom house is just a dream.

Even Jesus experienced surrender. In Philippians 2:6-11 Paul says that Jesus emptied himself and became a servant even to the point of dying one of the most horrible deaths imaginable.  Perhaps the most dramatic examples of his submission to the Father’s will comes in Luke 42:22.  For some time Jesus has known what awaited him in Jerusalem.  As he made his way down the dusty paths from Galilee to Jerusalem, Jesus spoke often of his death, and I suspect it was constantly on his mind. Yet when the time came, he sat alone in a garden praying, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.”  Moments before his arrest and hours before his death, even Jesus had to surrender his will to the will of his Father.

Surrender is not primarily a matter of obedience.  Obedience is a part of it, but I would rather look at obedience as the outcome rather than the starting point. We surrender to the will of the Father because of who he is.  He is God.  He is creator.  He is love.  Living a life of surrender means that we acknowledge that we are the created, and we cannot live the lives we were created to live under our own power.  We acknowledge that the one who can cultivate within us the life we so deeply desire is God.  We acknowledge that he is the creator of all things, that he loves us, and that he alone has the power to bring about our transformation.

I once posted a blog that looked at some of the troubling statistics that detailed just how little our faith seems to be impacting the way we live our lives?  The root cause of the unhinging of what we say we believe from how we live is a lack of intentional discipleship.  Because we haven’t figured this out we struggle to live up to Jesus’ expectations. If we would commit to a life of intentional discipleship there is no doubt in my mind that our actions would match what we say we believe.

Without intentional discipleship we may be able to grit our teeth and struggle our way into behavior that matches our teaching, but over time, our real hearts will begin to show through.  We can only try our way to changed practices for so long before we revert back to what is true inside.  If, however, we engage in intentional discipleship our inner lives begin to transform, and when our lives are transformed, we begin to live the lives we were created to live.  When we are transformed, the abundant kingdom life becomes an inner reality that influences everything we do and flows out like streams of living water.

We have said that a disciple is a student, a student of the master, but since we can’t follow Jesus in the same way the Apostles did, what does it look like for someone to follow Jesus today? What are the characteristics of a modern, intentional discipleship?

I’d like to suggest that intentional discipleship is surrendering to the Father’s will and walking in Jesus’ presence constantly.  This surrendering and walking brings us into the kingdom by cultivating within me the life I was created to live.  I become the person God created me to be by the transformation of my inner character into the image of Jesus through the power of the Holy Spirit.  I believe this understanding of discipleship encapsulates the key elements of following Jesus.  Over the next few weeks what do you say we spend some time unpacking this definition?

He was amazed at how quickly he disappeared when he first sat down on the corner. He learned quickly that it didn’t matter what he said, how well or how loud he played that old drum, no one could be bothered to do any more than glance in his general direction, and any who made accidental eye contact, looked away as quickly as possible.  He assumed his presence made them uncomfortable, knowing they lived in a world that is okay with a ten-year-old being forced to survive by playing a drum on the street.  Their refusal to acknowledge him was upsetting at first, but eventually he came to accept it. 

But this morning is different.  There is an unusual feeling in the air. The businessmen who typically hurry by in their own worlds making big money deals on their iPhones are now walking together.  They are smiling.  They are laughing.  They are talking to one another. They are carrying gifts.  And they are noticing our little drummer. They see him. They make eye contact with him.  They smile at him, and even give him a coin or two.

One drops a coin at his feet and looks in his eyes.  “Aren’t you coming, son?” He asks. 

“Excuse me, sir? Coming where?”

“To meet the newborn king. You should come and see,” he says and turns to rejoin the crowd. 

The boy drops his sticks and wonders if he is dreaming.  People are noticing him, acknowledging him and even speaking to him.  And now he is invited to visit a king?  How is this even possible?  With not a little bit of excitement he tosses his beat up old drum into a backpack, jumps up and runs to join the throng of pilgrims. 

It is not until he is fully enveloped by the crowd that the dilemma of a gift occurs to him. “These men are all bringing expensive gifts, but I don’t have anything.  I beg for nickels on the corner. What could I possibly offer to a future king?” He considers abandoning his journey and returning to his corner until his ten-year-old curiosity gets the better of him, and he continues with the crowd.

The people before him come to a stop, and those behind continue to press forward.  They must have arrived.  He is too small to see past the people, but his size does allow him to squeeze and wiggle toward the front.  The closer he gets the denser the crowd grows and the harder he must push to get through.  With one final lunge he bursts free of the others.  No more than a few feet in front of him is the royal family themselves, but he is surprised by what he sees.  They are hardly what he expected.  This family is like him… poor.

For a few moments his surprise keeps him from noticing that everyone is staring at him, but as soon as he does, panic begins to fill his belly, his chest and his face.  He is sure that he looks like an idiot and everyone must be wondering why such a ragamuffin is standing before them.  For years he longed to be noticed, but all he wants now is to sink back into anonymity.  

He looks around and sees the expensive gifts the men around him are carrying. “What could I possibly give?” He wonders. “All I have is a handful of coins, but these men have handfuls of hundred dollar bills?  What do I possibly have that is worthy to give a king?”

He lifts his head preparing to apologize and slip away but is surprised when he sees the mother smiling.  Her smile doesn’t mock or belittle but radiates warmth and love.  Her smile reminds him of his own mother’s.  He remembers the smile on her face when she gave him his drum or when she watched him play. 

Hardly realizing what he is doing he pulls his drum from the backpack.  Without taking his eyes off of that warm, beautiful smile he sits and begins to bang out a simple rhythm.  “What am I doing?” He thinks, “I play my drum for coins not kings!” And then he looks at the baby king.  “Is that a smile?  Did he just smile at me?”

A boy, a little drummer boy who thinks he has nothing to give doesn’t bring a gift of gold or silver.  He doesn’t offer fine foods or spices.  He offers his drum.  He offers his talent.  He offers to the baby king himself.  What do you have to offer the king this season?

While waiting for a recent meeting to begin a couple co-workers and I began talking about our sons.  One explained her theory that every boy is either fascinated with balls, trucks or action figures, and asked which category our boys fell into.  Another guy with a son about six months older than mine said that his son is a ball kid.  He went on to talk about how much his son loves sports and hockey in particular.  They take him to games and are starting to get him on the ice.  My two-year-old son, Caiden, is a truck boy.  He loves cars, trucks, trains, and vehicles of all kinds.  He can identify and call by name an excavator, bulldozer, backhoe, scraper grader, cherry-picker, forklift and the list goes on and on. 

I don’t know what kind of kid I was, but these days I am a ball kid, so I am ashamed to admit that I walked away from this conversation disappointed that Caiden is into trucks and not balls.  To be fair, he does line up behind me like a half-pint halfback, take a handoff and run into the kitchen to spike the ball while yelling, “Touchdown!”  He’ll also run around with a hockey stick and follow Eddie Olczyk’s advice to keep his stick on the ice, but none of these activities compare to his love of anything with wheels, and as sad is it sounds, this disappointed me. 

I want to share my love of sports with Caiden.  I believe there are great lessons to learn from playing sports. They teach us the value of teamwork, healthy competition and how to win or lose well, but at this point (excuse me while I vault to a conclusion), Caiden is more likely to be a mechanic than an NHL d-man.   If you are judging me and picturing the future destruction of my relationship with Caiden as I force him to play a sport he despises, please know that my response to this conversation made me sick.

In the end, I am grateful that this conversation uncovered my feelings. It has helped me to think through how I want to handle Caiden and his desire to play sports when he gets older. You see, I love Caiden like crazy, and I believe the most loving thing I can do is allow him to decide which sports, if any, he will play.  I will allow him to choose his own path even though it may not be what I would desire, and I do this because I love him.  Freedom, it turns out, flows from love. 

I wonder if there is a parallel here with God’s love.  What if God’s great love is the guiding reason for free will?  Is it possible that because of his crazy love for us, he allows us to choose whatever path we will, even if it means not following him, rather than force us into a life we did not choose?