Two years ago, I was asked by a student group in one of Oxford's churches to speak on the topic of Christian discipleship, and the following is a version of what I said:
In high school – where I introduced myself through, in the second week of my first semester, standing on the table in the full cafeteria shouting that ‘Jesus is Lord’ and promising physical healing to everyone who would let me pray for them – I used to wear a sweater with the text “YOU CAN BECOME LIKE JESUS” written in large capital letters on the back, white on black. The idea was, I think, to provoke questions, and in that it was partly successful. That is, it was definitely provocative. People were annoyed and irritated and sometimes very provoked indeed. But only a very few times did it actually generate any questions, and then only from other Christians who wondered what the heck I was up to. And so I got to explain to them, rather condescendingly, that as Christians we are called to be like Jesus; to be imitators of God; to be shaped into His likeness. I would then quote Bible verses such as 2. Cor 3:18 or Eph. 5:1-2, mainly to shut up the Christians who questioned the necessity of ‘taking it that far’.
In high school – where I introduced myself through, in the second week of my first semester, standing on the table in the full cafeteria shouting that ‘Jesus is Lord’ and promising physical healing to everyone who would let me pray for them – I used to wear a sweater with the text “YOU CAN BECOME LIKE JESUS” written in large capital letters on the back, white on black. The idea was, I think, to provoke questions, and in that it was partly successful. That is, it was definitely provocative. People were annoyed and irritated and sometimes very provoked indeed. But only a very few times did it actually generate any questions, and then only from other Christians who wondered what the heck I was up to. And so I got to explain to them, rather condescendingly, that as Christians we are called to be like Jesus; to be imitators of God; to be shaped into His likeness. I would then quote Bible verses such as 2. Cor 3:18 or Eph. 5:1-2, mainly to shut up the Christians who questioned the necessity of ‘taking it that far’.
‘You can become like Jesus’. Never mind this was an interesting thing to say to people I was literally turning my back on! But there is something in that approach to discipleship that started to bug me, certain tensions that it took a somewhat different approach (for me, at least) to resolve. Sort of resolve, I guess I should say. So here follows my very personal and not at all universal description of the journey that took me from this ‘starting point’ to where I think I might be today, the development of a particular tension, if you like.
The tension I am talking about was, very shortly, between these two statements:
The tension I am talking about was, very shortly, between these two statements:
‘I want to be more like Jesus and do what he did’ vs ‘There is none like Jesus, and no one can do what he did’
This becomes a tension because I cannot know in what precisely I should ‘imitate’ Jesus. How should I know what Jesus would do? I figured the Bible would say what Jesus did, and so I took it from there. But what if he would spit in a blind man’s face in order to heal him? Should I do that? When and where would that be appropriate? Or, should I call my elders ‘offspring of snakes’? Should I declare that I am the living bread who has been sent from heaven? Jesus did all of these things…
And so, for me at least, it seemed that I must in the end begin searching for a kind of ‘spiritual’ principles ‘underneath’ what Jesus did, and attempting to understand these hidden principles, and ‘apply’ them. And so I began concentrating on what I understood as ‘revelation’, or occasional moments of sudden intuitive insight (in my “heart” and not my “head”). ‘Oh, if I could only really grasp and understand in my heart that God will take care of me, then I wouldn’t worry so much.’ Or, ‘if I could only ‘have a revelation’ of what Jesus did on the cross, then I would be healed’. But how can I experience these moments of insights, or at least facilitate for them to happen, since I cannot force God to give me ‘revelation’ in this sense?
Again I can only speak for myself. I did two things in particular: Firstly, I read the Bible. A lot. I studied it, I knew all the kings of Judah and Israel, where and when they reigned, whether they were considered godly or not, and their relatives. I challenged my leaders to quote a random verse from any book in the Bible, and I would tell them from which book it was taken, and sometimes even chapter. I looked for patterns in the narratives, e.g. when things turn out right and when things turn out wrong in the stories of God’s people – assuming there were key principles to be ‘excavated’ from the text. I memorized verses. I cross-referenced all the prophets to the stories about the times they lived in. I studied the mentioning of particular cities, places, persons, names, people groups, etc through the scriptures. And I did this without using references or commentaries, since I detested theology as an academic and ‘top-heavy’ discipline that made people lose their authentic ‘living faith’.
Secondly, I prayed. At least, that is what I thought I did. The third year in high school I got up at 5.30am, prayed through a chapter in the book of Proverbs for an hour (pacing up and down in my morning-cold room), had a short breakfast, and went to school an hour before I had to. I then walked a particular route around the whole school, both inside and outside, praying, before going to one of the small practice rooms in the music department to pray for the people in my class by name. School started at 9am. At noon we had an hour off, and every single day without exception I organized prayer meetings in a particular room for the whole of this hour. After school I went home, locked myself in my room to read the Bible and ‘seek God’. I would stay there until dinner, eat quickly and go back upstairs, and read, sing, and ‘seek God’ (which basically meant that I concentrated really hard on ‘feeling His presence’) and meditate on Bible-verses, before I went to bed at 11.00pm, to be able to get up at 5.30am (6.5 hours of sleep). Every day. For a year and a half. On Wednesdays I went to church prayer meetings. I also fasted every Wednesday, as well as for one week in spring and one week in autumn + some other occasions. On Fridays I went to the youth service, where I played in a worship band (which meant arrive early, leave late). On Sundays I slept.
But the question, to return to that, still was: Am I now being shaped into his likeness? Put another way, does it not seem that if this is discipleship, then only intellectually curious people driven by perfectionism and with a lot of time on their hands can be true disciples? To be honest, I thought I was doing better than most. But I did realize that things were not ‘breaking through’ the way I intended them to. I then thought that it would have to come down to two things: My priorities (since doing something else than this would be a kind of idolatry), and secondly, authenticity (since I must ‘really, really mean it’ or everything I do would be a waste). So prioritize the right actions, and be authentic in carrying them out.
But how can I know that I am being authentic? On the one hand, God looks to my heart and not to all the things I do; on the other hand, my priorities reflect my heart’s desire.
This is where this kind of thinking took me. All that was left for me was to do as much as I could, while knowing that it would never be enough, and that God would look to my heart, and not like what He saw there, but nevertheless allow me to be His. At this point I found I was caught in a kind of strange circle of guilt and falling short: My guilt would always be greater than the sum of what I had done wrong; while at the same time God’s forgiveness would always surpass my debt; which in the end meant that my debt of gratitude to God was always more than I could give.
Somehow this turned God into a manipulating superior who gives more than I can repay and makes me feel that I should give more back. It is like when a distant relative surprisingly gives you something way too expensive for your birthday – thereby paralyzing you with a kind of invisible ‘debt’ of gratitude! What kind of manipulating God puts you in an eternal debt of gratitude?
Today I think differently about what it means to be a ‘disciple’.
I think the missing element in my approach was the church and the collective practices of the church. Take the word ‘disciple’ and the word ‘discipline’ – practice, embodied action, habitual performance.
And so, for me at least, it seemed that I must in the end begin searching for a kind of ‘spiritual’ principles ‘underneath’ what Jesus did, and attempting to understand these hidden principles, and ‘apply’ them. And so I began concentrating on what I understood as ‘revelation’, or occasional moments of sudden intuitive insight (in my “heart” and not my “head”). ‘Oh, if I could only really grasp and understand in my heart that God will take care of me, then I wouldn’t worry so much.’ Or, ‘if I could only ‘have a revelation’ of what Jesus did on the cross, then I would be healed’. But how can I experience these moments of insights, or at least facilitate for them to happen, since I cannot force God to give me ‘revelation’ in this sense?
Again I can only speak for myself. I did two things in particular: Firstly, I read the Bible. A lot. I studied it, I knew all the kings of Judah and Israel, where and when they reigned, whether they were considered godly or not, and their relatives. I challenged my leaders to quote a random verse from any book in the Bible, and I would tell them from which book it was taken, and sometimes even chapter. I looked for patterns in the narratives, e.g. when things turn out right and when things turn out wrong in the stories of God’s people – assuming there were key principles to be ‘excavated’ from the text. I memorized verses. I cross-referenced all the prophets to the stories about the times they lived in. I studied the mentioning of particular cities, places, persons, names, people groups, etc through the scriptures. And I did this without using references or commentaries, since I detested theology as an academic and ‘top-heavy’ discipline that made people lose their authentic ‘living faith’.
Secondly, I prayed. At least, that is what I thought I did. The third year in high school I got up at 5.30am, prayed through a chapter in the book of Proverbs for an hour (pacing up and down in my morning-cold room), had a short breakfast, and went to school an hour before I had to. I then walked a particular route around the whole school, both inside and outside, praying, before going to one of the small practice rooms in the music department to pray for the people in my class by name. School started at 9am. At noon we had an hour off, and every single day without exception I organized prayer meetings in a particular room for the whole of this hour. After school I went home, locked myself in my room to read the Bible and ‘seek God’. I would stay there until dinner, eat quickly and go back upstairs, and read, sing, and ‘seek God’ (which basically meant that I concentrated really hard on ‘feeling His presence’) and meditate on Bible-verses, before I went to bed at 11.00pm, to be able to get up at 5.30am (6.5 hours of sleep). Every day. For a year and a half. On Wednesdays I went to church prayer meetings. I also fasted every Wednesday, as well as for one week in spring and one week in autumn + some other occasions. On Fridays I went to the youth service, where I played in a worship band (which meant arrive early, leave late). On Sundays I slept.
But the question, to return to that, still was: Am I now being shaped into his likeness? Put another way, does it not seem that if this is discipleship, then only intellectually curious people driven by perfectionism and with a lot of time on their hands can be true disciples? To be honest, I thought I was doing better than most. But I did realize that things were not ‘breaking through’ the way I intended them to. I then thought that it would have to come down to two things: My priorities (since doing something else than this would be a kind of idolatry), and secondly, authenticity (since I must ‘really, really mean it’ or everything I do would be a waste). So prioritize the right actions, and be authentic in carrying them out.
But how can I know that I am being authentic? On the one hand, God looks to my heart and not to all the things I do; on the other hand, my priorities reflect my heart’s desire.
This is where this kind of thinking took me. All that was left for me was to do as much as I could, while knowing that it would never be enough, and that God would look to my heart, and not like what He saw there, but nevertheless allow me to be His. At this point I found I was caught in a kind of strange circle of guilt and falling short: My guilt would always be greater than the sum of what I had done wrong; while at the same time God’s forgiveness would always surpass my debt; which in the end meant that my debt of gratitude to God was always more than I could give.
Somehow this turned God into a manipulating superior who gives more than I can repay and makes me feel that I should give more back. It is like when a distant relative surprisingly gives you something way too expensive for your birthday – thereby paralyzing you with a kind of invisible ‘debt’ of gratitude! What kind of manipulating God puts you in an eternal debt of gratitude?
Today I think differently about what it means to be a ‘disciple’.
I think the missing element in my approach was the church and the collective practices of the church. Take the word ‘disciple’ and the word ‘discipline’ – practice, embodied action, habitual performance.
What I didn’t realize was that God is not asking me to do specific things to make other things happen – He is inviting me to share in something God is doing within Godself. But wasn’t this what I thought I was doing? Surely I thought that I was participating in God’s work when I was praying for my school – I actually saw it that way, God is working with this, and I participate. That’s not what I mean. I mean that it is like God is already doing something within Godself , and we are invited to participate in that. One picture that the church has used to think about this is the picture of the three guests of Abraham This has been understood as an image of the Trinity. We see three persons sitting at a table, sharing a meal. They are relaxed (notice feet position) and attentive to one another (two are listening to the third). They share one meal at the centre of the table. The community is real, there is mutual sharing and waiting upon each other, all already taking place without our contribution. The nearest end (to the viewer) of the table is open, and we are invited to participate if we want to. All we need do is sit down and do what they are already doing.
Relax, be attentive to the other, share, wait, receive. Take the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ as an example of something central to Christianity, the one narrative that runs like a thread through the New Testament. When He is crucified, Jesus surrenders everything, He gives up everything. In the resurrection, He receives everything back. So in a way, Jesus is both Giver and Receiver. He is both Servant and King. Think about it this way: Within the Trinity, in the ultimate relation between Father, Christ and Spirit, there is always, all the time, a giving and a receiving taking place. This is fundamental to Reality as such. In short: God IS love. God is always, in His Trinitarian self, centred on the other, submitting in service, receiving in gratitude.
These virtues, if you like, are ingrained in the practices of the Church, and we are shaped through these.
And there is a paradox here. Who is it that has something, and therefore has more status in the relationship? It is the one who gives; the Servant. And who is it that does not have, and therefore less status? It is the one who receives; the King. When Jesus washes the feet of the disciples and says that if you are high then you must be low, and that those who are low will be lifted high, He is only being realistic about the exchange of gifts. The one who has serves, and the one who does not have receives – the one who has is servant, the one who has not is king.
The giving and receiveing of thanks reverses this process, folds it back on itself, as it were. The servant receives praise, the king gives thanks. An eternal reciprocal relationship is what the Church is, because it imitates God, it shares in the internal economy of the Trinitarian Godhead.
Think for example of how we go through the readings during a session of evening prayer. Notice how it is all centred on response. I give you a word, you receive, you give me a word, I receive, both of us always both waiting for and coming to meet the other. This is not found in the content of the text, it is ingrained in the liturgical practices. It takes time; it takes bodily performance and mindful attention.
Lit-urgy; entreaty-activity; “performing prayer”.
Think of when the church ministers the Eucharist. The gifts of money, bread, and wine are carried from the back of the church to the altar to be blessed. We give our gifts to God, yet as a response. On one level, we give and receive bread and wine from one another (we are here giving and receiving from one another Christ Himself) and at the same time, on another level, Christ is in me (His body, the bread and wine) and I am in Christ (His body, the church). This single Eucharistic event is the single defining event of Reality as such – a bottomless reciprocity; participation all the way down, and all the way up.
As the architecture of the Metropolitan Cathedral in Liverpool speaks so clearly of, the Eucharistic event is hence the central event, whereas all other events in the world are considered ‘extensions' of this centre, like chapels surrounding the nave where the altar is located. When we share in this event, and in its extensions throughout Reality – waiting, giving, receiving –, we are participating in something that God is doing amongst Himself; we are part-takers in the divine nature, sharing, as it were, in who God is. Performing Godself; the-urgy.Consider the icon again – this relationship, this community, this mutual gift-exchange, is always-already taking place. God does not need our help for this to happen. God is not waiting for us so that He can become who God is. God is not telling us to imitate something God could only do because He (Christ) was God. God is not asking us to grasp principles and then ‘apply’ them. God is not giving us everything only to leaving us struggling with too much to be grateful for. God invites participation.
While this is always-already going on, there is an 'individual' side to it.
When I was interviewed by the police about me not wanting to join the military (most Norwegian men of 18 are drafted), I was asked what I would do if a man was chasing me with a knife (‘run for my life’), or if he was catching up (‘run faster’) or if he was sitting on me, stabbing me… I had to say, in the end, that I did not know. And I don’t think we know how we would react in hypothetical situations (…), because in crises we react from our spine, not from conscious convictions or beliefs.
Perhaps participating in the liturgies and practices of church shapes habits in us, on a much deeper level than we could ever manage without actually participating in them. I believe that would we allow these practices to become habits, over time they would sloooooowly become part of us; and shape our spine reactions. To be a Christian disciple is then nothing else than to be shaped into the likeness of Christ through participation in the (multiple worldly extensions of) the Eucharistic event. To be sent, to give, to receive, to make, to lose. To be emptied, confused, doubting – handed over (traditio) to be crucified - and receive oneself back from death. Perhaps to be a disciple of Christ is to be handed over to series of embodied, habitual, and communal practices (disciplines; liturgies; theurgies) which over time shape me into the kind of broken/whole human being God intends me to continuously become – from the spine and out.
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