How do you learn to do something when you have no clue how to do it?

Jon Swanson writes a lot lately about learning to follow Jesus. His thoughts challenge me. I realize that I don’t know how, and that I’m not even sure I know what it means.

As I’ve thought about this internal dilemma I’ve uncovered another disquieting revelation. I tend to think about following Jesus as something I need to perfect before I can really do it.

Does that make sense?

It’s as though my current efforts are rough drafts to be dumped in the trash as soon as I get it right. I’m practicing on the sidelines until I get good enough to join the actual game.

Intellectually, of course, I know better. But I’ve discovered that when I open me up and take an honest look, I find a lot of junk that doesn’t make much sense.

Simulators

Some activities need to be mastered before you actually try them. A pilot can’t use trial-and-error with real planes filled with real people. The brain surgeon can’t just poke around and experiment on living patients until he figures out how things work.

But following Jesus isn’t like that. You can’t learn it in a simulator. I’m thinking that a good analogy is learning a language.

Imagine trying to internalize a language if you refused to speak until you were fluent. No way—it’s an on-the-job, experiential progression. You learn and speak simple words and phrases, make lots of mistakes, and gradually get a little better at it.

I’m told that the most efficient language acquisition happens through total immersion. Living in the culture, forcing yourself to learn as you go about daily routines, turns out to be maybe the best way to learn the language.

Of course, you spend a lot of time looking like an idiot. You ask dumb questions and use the wrong words. Your accent marks you as a foreigner. You get slapped because your sincere attempt to ask for directions turns out to be some sort of unintended, indecent suggestion.

This happens even when you think you share common words. A friend spoke at a conference in London. For some reason he used the word “pants” frequently in his first presentation and noticed some nervous laughter. Turns out that “trousers” might have been a better choice, since in London “pants” refers to underwear.

I picture him telling the audience that he had to change into clean pants after the long plane ride.

Jumping in

I think following Jesus is like that. You can only learn by doing. You start with the simple stuff, ask a lot of dumb questions, and make a lot of mistakes.

And immersion is probably the best way to learn. Making following part of everything I do, even when I get it wrong, seems like what He asks.

A couple of questions:

• Am I serious enough to immerse myself in following? Will I take the risk, face the fear, be willing to look and sound like a foreigner?
• How easy do I make this learning for others? Do I invite their questions? Do I laugh or criticize when they get it wrong?

I don’t want to be a simulator disciple. I don’t want to wait until I get it all perfect before I start doing it for real.

How about you?

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How much does it cost?

I read an article this week that estimated the cost of raising a child to age eighteen. According to a study, the average parent will spend about $250,000 just to get a child to the point where they can incur really serious debt for college.

The writer speculated whether this data would have serious impact on family planning decisions. I don’t think it will, and her question reminded me that we frequently set goals or commit to obligations without really considering the costs.

We claim the freedom Jesus conveys, but we forget sometimes that being His apprentice carries a price. Following Jesus isn’t free.

Large crowds were traveling with Jesus, and turning to them he said: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple. And anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.

“Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Will he not first sit down and estimate the cost to see if he has enough money to complete it? For if he lays the foundation and is not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule him, saying, ‘This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.’

“Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Will he not first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand? If he is not able, he will send a delegation while the other is still a long way off and will ask for terms of peace. In the same way, any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple.” [Luke 14:25-33]

Jesus employed hyperbole to make a point; He certainly didn’t teach that we ought to literally “hate” anyone, but He was clear that God’s Kingdom involves a radically altered set of priorities.

So what does it “cost” me to follow Jesus? I thought it might be interesting to list at least a few lines in my own itemized price list.

• Revenge. Instead or retaliating when someone hurts me, Jesus tells me to forgive when it’s the very last thing I want to do.
• Superiority. I want to be right, win the argument, and crush inferior ideas, but Jesus reminds me to keep my eyes on the concerns of His Kingdom and to avoid foolish quarrels over foolish things.
• Power. Rather than demanding that others meet my needs and fulfill my desires. Jesus tells me to adopt an attitude of humility and service.
• Control. When I demand the right to establish my own rules and follow my own path, Jesus says, “Obey God.”
• Judgment. I want punishment for those who break the rules, but Jesus says it’s not even my place to judge.
• Attention/admiration. When I want others to know what a good guy I am, when I desire extra credit for all of the wonderful things I do (J), Jesus tells me to do my good deeds in secret.
• Security. While I worry about the future and plan for every contingency. Jesus tells me to trust that God will provide.
• Ownership. I worked for it, I earned it, and it’s mine—and Jesus reminds me that I’m just a steward, that none of it belongs to me.

My incomplete list mostly reminds me that I’ve done little to demonstrate that I’m willing to pay the price of discipleship. My debt increases moment by moment along with awareness that I’ll never be able to pay.

I desire to do better, but I already know I’ll fail. I can’t possibly meet the standard. I can talk about surrender, but I’ll never achieve it. Following Jesus carries a price tag that I’m unable and unwilling to pay. I might as well just give up. It’s hopeless.

And as soon as I acknowledge that I can’t meet the requirements, He reminds me that He already paid the price on my behalf. That’s the wonder of grace—amazing grace, Relentless Grace, unmerited, infinite grace.

It’s not hopeless, because He knew the cost of obedience and surrender, accepted it willingly, and settled my debt. He went to the cross so we could receive the benefits of an apprenticeship we can’t possibly fulfill.

Two questions: First, what would you add to my list of costs? Second, what’s your response when you realize that He paid the price for you?

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 Large crowds were traveling with Jesus, and turning to them he said: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple. And anyone who does not carry his cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.

“Suppose one of you wants to build a tower. Will he not first sit down and estimate the cost to see if he has enough money to complete it? For if he lays the foundation and is not able to finish it, everyone who sees it will ridicule him, saying, ‘This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.’” [Luke 14:25-30]

Have you ever thought about the conditional nature of our culture?

Everything has strings attached. The warranty is limited. Marriage comes with pre-nuptial agreements. Check the return policy carefully. Always read the fine print. Seems that it’s all about limiting liability and responsibility, setting the terms, and making sure everyone knows where the lines are.

Everything’s conditional.

Then, here’s Jesus with this radical notion: if you want to follow me and be my disciple, you have to be “all-in.”

This passage is frequently misinterpreted because Jesus uses hyperbole to make a point. He’s not instructing us to hate or reject our earthly families, but He is clearly setting priorities. You can’t follow Him conditionally, after other bases are covered. You can’t set aside a limited part of your life for Him, reserving the rest for other important matters.

If you want to follow Him, you’re either all-in or not. No exceptions or exclusions, no lines or limits. No conditions.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not all-in. And I will never get there.

Even as He staked this radical claim, He also knew I’d never be able to honor it. No matter how hard I try, I always hold something in reserve. I retain a safety net, a piece that I control. Even if I want to, I’ll never be 100% all-in.

Sometimes I’m not sure what to make of a situation in which the mark is set impossibly high. I’m tempted to simply give up. If I can’t possibly do what He requires, what’s the use in even trying?

Then I remember grace. God’s standards never change, and if I had to reach them on my own I’d be doomed. But Jesus stepped into my place, did what I never could, and bridged the gap for me. Because He was all-in, my failure and weakness is forgiven.

In Christ, I’m all-in.

A pastor once said it beautifully. When he was asked to explain Christianity in non-church terms, he replied:

Jesus left His place, and came to our place. He took our place, so He could take us to His place.

I want to be all-in. How about you?

Did you enjoy this article? Please leave a comment, visit my website, and/or send me an email at rich@richdixon.net.

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