When Following Jesus Isn't Easy

[The Midweek Encounter is a ministry of Encounter Church in Kentwood, MI. These posts are reflections on Sunday's message, which can be heard here each week: http://myencounterchurch.org/#/messages-media] 

I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know about Jesus. Growing up this way was an immense blessing in many respects, but leaves my answer to “Why do you follow Jesus?” feeling a bit flat. As a kid I followed him because that’s what my parents did and what I was taught to do at church and at school, and in those environments, it wasn’t a very difficult thing to do most of the time. I prayed, read my Bible, and tried to be nice to people. It was a seemingly simple matter to follow Jesus, yet the longer I did and the more serious about it I got, I came to realize it’s definitely not such an easy thing after all. To really mean it when I say I follow Jesus demands my life be arranged and lived differently than if I were merely living for myself, and learning to look more like Jesus is a process that’s never fully complete.

Photo by Tim Trad on Unsplash

In Luke 22 we find we’re not the only ones who struggle to follow God well. After the Passover meal, Jesus took some of his disciples with him into the garden where he went to pray. Yet his disciples weren’t even able to stay awake while he prayed, even though Jesus had warned them against falling into temptation. Meanwhile, Jesus prayed, “Let this cup be taken from me.” I find those words so fascinating and so convicting. He knew he was about to accomplish the reason he came to earth. Yet while Jesus had the audacity to pray for something different than what he wanted to happen, he trusted his Father enough to know that those plans had to be accomplished and would ultimately serve the best possible purpose.

This is where we so often run into trouble. It’s not overly difficult to say we believe in God and we want to strive to follow Jesus in the best way possible. Suddenly though, when we’re faced with choices where God’s way doesn’t line up with our own, those words don’t come so readily. Perhaps, like Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, we know saying yes to God will lead us to a place of deep pain, struggle, and anguish. Or maybe following God means continuing to say no to dreams we’ve held tightly for so long. 

"Not my will, but thy will" are some of the hardest words we might ever say. 

While it’s true following Jesus starts with one big decision, after that one, it involves many, many more. Every day, sometimes every hour or every minute, we’re faced with decisions of whether to obey our own will or God’s will. Those decisions may be obvious, or may be complex and hard to discern at first. When we dig deep, the core of our question is whether or not we truly believe following Jesus is worth it. Do we trust God to work out his purpose for us, even if it may not be what we want, or may not seem like it’s best for us? Or do we say we follow Jesus, while all the while doubting if he can really do what he says he can, for us, in our specific situation? 

It’s nice to think these matters will eventually all get wrapped up tidily, as solid evidence we can point to and say, “God is good, because he did ________.” I love those kinds of stories, and they absolutely have to be told. Other stories have to be told as well though, the ones where God hasn’t wrapped things up tidily yet, and we don’t know if he ever will. In my own life, it’s looked like friendships that went wrong and I’ve never been able to figure out where or why. It’s looked like prayers prayed for years on end with absolutely no tangible answer. It’s looked liked dead ends to what I thought could be amazing opportunities. So my answer of why I follow Jesus isn’t based on big, flashy things he’s done in my life (though I’d argue the many small things add up to big ones), but on the basis of who he is and who he’s transforming me to become. Jesus trusted a plan that was bigger than his own, and the closer we follow him, the more we’ll learn the same. 

[Brianna DeWitt believes in Jesus, surrounding yourself with good people, and that desserts are best when they involve chocolate and peanut butter. She writes about faith, growing up, and whatever else pops into her head on her own blog, and tweets (largely about food) at @bwitt722.]

Go and Do. Go and Do.

[The Midweek Encounter is a ministry of Encounter Church in Kentwood, MI. These posts are reflections on Sunday's message, which can be heard here each week: http://myencounterchurch.org/#/messages-media] 

Have you ever thought that Jesus’ parables—the stories that he tells—can sometimes be a bit dramatic? I mean, imagine that you’re in a foreign land, just passing through, and you find yourself in a particularly dangerous part of town. You’re already nervous because you know that people are often robbed in the area, and then you come across a naked, half-dead body. What would you do? This is the premise of Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan, and I’ll admit that at first read it can seem a bit far-fetched.

But, just as every story in the Bible points to Jesus, so too does Jesus’ own parable point to the truth of who he is. Jesus is the one who came into a hostile land, was cruelly murdered in it, and then pledged to return in order to redeem the very people who executed him.

Jesus lived out an impossibly far-fetched, radical love, and he challenged us to go and do the same. While some of us may cringe at the thought of bandaging the seeping wounds of a stranger, especially a stranger encountered in a dangerous and foreign place, there can be many permutations of this work.

I don’t think we necessarily have to risk personal safety to be like the Good Samaritan, but we have to risk something for the gospel. Perhaps it’s social danger. Perhaps we befriend the person who everyone thinks is a little strange, or socially awkward, or too different. Perhaps the risk is actually inviting that neighbor or co-worker to church. Perhaps we spend our money differently and live in a smaller home or drive an older car so that we have more money to give away, all the while enduring the judgement from colleagues who take nicer vacations or live in a more desirable zip code. Perhaps we stand up for a stranger who is suffering under discrimination, or follow the holy spirit’s prompting to post something risky but true to social media.

The Lord asked us to go and do. Go and do.

Sometimes the risk might be our own personal satisfaction. Through his church, my dad has been delivering Thanksgiving meal baskets to families who qualify for a free meal through a local program. My dad purchases the “traditional” (to him) Thanksgiving dinner items—a turkey with a disposable roasting pan, seasonings, vegetables and stuffing, rolls, and a pie, and drops the meal off (with cooking instructions in case any of the food is unfamiliar) at the family’s home. A few years ago, my dad dropped off a basket to a family who opened the door, took the basket, and slammed the door shut without saying a single word. My dad was a bit surprised by the reception, but he got back into his car and continued delivering baskets of food around the community. Jesus didn’t tell us to offer kindness, hospitality, or gospel to people who express gratitude in a manner that fulfills our own cultural expectations.

The Lord asked us to go and do. Go and do.

It can be tempting to ask what the minimum threshold is for living a selfless life. What’s the minimum commitment I can make to charitable giving, volunteering, hosting, or sharing? What’s the least I can do to be neighborly? The challenge, according to Jesus, is not to limit ourselves to the minimum, but rather to push ourselves to the maximum. What’s the greatest sacrifice I can possibly make of my finances, my time, my home, my influence, my knowledge, my resources? As Dirk preached on Sunday, people are not an interruption or an inconvenience. People are an invitation to love as Jesus loves.

After all, Jesus is the only one who went and did, perfectly.

[Kristin vanEyk loves partnering with the people and the mission of Encounter Church. Learn more about Encounter or listen to Sunday's message here.]