It was time to make lunch, and a happy two-year-old stood on the stool beside me at the kitchen counter, gibbering away.
“What’s this?” he asks, holding up a light brown orb.
“Onion,” I reply.
“Onyi,” he mimics the sounds as best as his little tongue allows.
“Yes,” I chuckle.
“Onyi, onyi, onyi…” he sings as if to himself, completely wrapped up in his own world now. It’s just him and his revelation: the onion.

Thankfully, he surrenders his precious “onyi” and we chop it up, along with the veggies. His butter knife cubes the air as mine cubes the pork. We then measure out the flour, his favorite part of any recipe because he can do it all by himself. I turn my attention to the pan on the stove so I don’t burn lunch, leaving him to his game of flour transportation via spoon.

I mix all the ingredients together in the pan, turn the burner down, and give them another good mix before checking on my Sous Chef to make sure the butter knife has not been replaced by the real one. It hasn’t. Good. It’s still lying there on the cutting board where I left it, and my son’s butter knife is close by. Next to his knife, my eyes follow a trail of white leading to a fluffy, white pyramid, and in front of it, as serious as could be, stands a little human, wet flour thickly caked onto his shirt and face. He’s drinking dry flour from a cup with a metal mixing bowl atop his head. Noticing my gaze, he turns his head and beams, “Look, Mama, I made lunch.” It’s a meal fit for a king as far as he’s concerned.

It was at that moment that the Voice spoke to me. The gentle, quiet voice that reaches into my very soul pushing past all the distractions and pretenses, dividing bone and marrow, light from dark. “Just so you know,” it began, “that’s what you look like serving Me. Your ”help“ is neither efficient nor necessary. It actually creates more work for Me, but I love that you are next to Me, involved in what I’m doing. I love that you want to help Me. I even love the bowl on your head and your messy shirt. Yes, I see them. I delight in working side by side, but you’re not doing great things for Me that I couldn’t do for Myself. I want you, but I don’t need you.”

He Doesn’t Need Me

I want God to need me, to be unable to function without my energy, ideas, and service. I want my prayers to direct and empower Him to fulfill His will. Of course, I know that none of these things are biblical, but when push comes to shove, I want to be important. I long to be indispensable. My soul screams a yearning to be the one that God can’t live without. But His all-sufficient, speak-the-world-into-creation self does not need the messy, floury, mixing bowl-crowned me. That truth petrifies me. If I’m not useful, will God abandon me? If I’m not the best at everything, will He move on to someone better? My mind knows the answers to these questions, but my heart shudders at the possibility. How will He react when I let Him down? I better hide this bowl. Oh my gosh, look at my shirt. What a mess. I’m such a child. Is He looking at me? I can feel that He is. He’s disappointed, I know it. He’s mad at me for spilling. I can’t take it. I gotta get out of here, away from Him.

I run away because at the bottom of my need to be needed is insecurity. What if I’m not enough? The lie, lurking in the shadows, is that God not needing me is the same thing as Him being indifferent toward me. There’s nothing indifferent about God. He’s self-sufficient, but that’s not the same, and it doesn’t diminish His love for me. In fact, it’s this very character quality that ensures that His love for me is poured out in its purest form. He doesn’t need a thing from me, so His love is free of greed and manipulation. His love is an extension of who He is, not a maneuver to get what He wants. Everything is His already. He doesn’t need me.

God chooses the menu, and He’ll make sure that lunch doesn’t burn. But I feel ridiculous standing here with a bowl on my head. Yet the truth is I’m a child, and I sometimes do childish things. He knows that and sees that. I don’t need to pretend otherwise by hiding the bowl. It’ll inevitably find its way back to its perch anyway. This isn’t to say that it’s a fashion statement and something I flaunt. Call it what it is: childishness. I have it, and God knows and loves me the same. And that’s that. It’s not the centerpiece of my service, nor does it disqualify it. The same goes for my messy shirt and my pathetic ‘“lunch.”

This puts me in my place, but that place isn’t that of a guilty cowering dog. God’s Voice was direct and truthful, but it didn’t make me want to run. His words were a rebuke. But instead of feeling shamed, I felt liberated.
Because…

He Wants Me

Even though He doesn’t need me, He wants to be in the same room as me. I often don’t want to be in the same room with me. I spend so much time frustrated with who I’m not, that I forget that my Heavenly Father delights in what I am right now. I’m so wrapped up in trying to pour the flour perfectly, impossible with my shaky hands, that I forget that He didn’t invite me to cook with Him because of my skill. He invited me because He delights in me. His everlasting love beckoned me. He didn’t hire me, scouring hundreds of applications for the best qualified person to accomplish His plan. He adopted me and offers me a home, not an office.

I’m not one screwup away from getting the pink slip. I don’t need to dress to impress nor must I climb the ladder to be noticed. I’m completely accepted as I am. Not who I want to be, but who I am in this very moment with all of my wonderful God-infused qualities and all the wet flour stuck to my shirt and face. I like to pretend, though, that I didn’t make a mess, like I can’t see the flour all over every surface of the counter and myself. I want lunch to be all prepared and perfect and the mess all cleaned before I invite God into the room. And so I try, try, and try harder to impress Him, forgetting that He’s standing next to me the whole time. More than that, He was in the room before I was. He’s the One who invited me in. But I forget about that in my pursuit to earn His favor. And after my best efforts, all I have to show for it is a cup of flour. No amount of effort changes who I am and what I can accomplish, but my deep insecurity will not accept that because what if my bowl-hat is too ridiculous and He’s embarrassed by me? What if a cup of flour isn’t enough to ensure His love for me?

The fact that He smiles down at me and laughs a good long grandpa laugh when I present my main course to Him makes my heart soar. He really isn’t here for the food. He’s here for me. This doesn’t make me the center of the universe. Oh no, reality with Him is so much better than that. It makes me the helper, invited into the creative process with the Center of the Galaxy. I’m working shoulder to shoulder with the Energizer, Sustainer, and Protector of all things that were, are, and are to come.

Yielding to His rightful position removes my insecurities and quiets my soul. It also frees me to be who I am. I no longer have to pretend to be God. I am once again a child standing next to Him on my stool ready to engage with wonder and anticipation in what I see. I don’t need to know what that brown ball is. I can ask. I don’t need to cube the pork yet; God’s got it. I can keep practicing on the air. I can pour the flour all by myself, and it doesn’t matter if I spill a little because it’s not about that tiny task. It’s about the experience of being in the kitchen together. That’s what’ll change my heart.

Isn’t that what it’s all about? Serving God, I mean. It’s not about doing extraordinary things. It’s about loving God and loving others. Our preeminent task is to love, not to serve. Genuine love ignites the heart to service. If you truly love someone, you’ll serve them. But the service is secondary to the love. Putting service first will slowly pull the heart into pride by thinking that it’s the best servant around—or into insecurity, thinking it has to maintain a certain level of service in order to earn love. Both are equally lethal to the spiritual life, and they both hold me in the center, which means that I’m living in a false reality. To get back to how things really are, how they were created to be, I first need to get back to the relationship.

A deep, dynamic relationship with God will bring about service and that of an extraordinary kind. The Apostle Paul calls these stunning elements of service the fruits of the Spirit. Serving isn’t doing nice things for others because it’s the right thing to do. It’s loving others as God loves us. He gave Himself for us. That’s what His love looks like, and that’s what I’m called to do. An impossible task on my own, but thanks be to God, I’m not on my own. I’m in close proximity and loved by God, and that’s changing me and changing the way that I serve. It kills the pride and vanquishes the insecurity. Then out pours peace, self-control, patience, kindness, love, goodness, gentleness, joy, and faithfulness. All essential qualities of a servant. It puts me in my place: that of a beloved child and a cherished servant.

The Triune God of the Universe invited me to stand next to Him, and He has invited you as well. Let’s forget about being “useful” for just a moment and close our eyes and imagine that we’re free from that burden—that burden to produce and preform in order to maintain our position of favor. Let’s forget about our silly notion that we’re the greatest servant ever. Let’s listen to the Voice: “I don’t need you; I want you.”

Editor’s Note: This is the third article in the Power and Role of Just One Color series. Click here to read the first article, published on February 6, 2024 and here to read the second article, published on March 5, 2024.

Hopefully, this series has you thinking about the amazing diversity of spiritual gifts and is making the case that they’re each an essential part of a healthy church. So they’re important, but how do we make these concepts come to life in our churches?

Just as the Apostle Paul wove theology and practice into each of his epistles, so should we try to weave theological truths and the practice of them into our churches’ DNA. Knowing the right answers is useless unless those answers are shaping the way we live. It’s pointless to take a spiritual gifts test, read the results, say, “Huh, that’s interesting,” and then leave it in a folder on our desktop. If our theological discoveries about spiritual gifts aren’t shaping the way we make decisions in our day-to-day, all we’re doing is adding information to our brains. We might be able to give a killer lecture on spiritual gifts, but are our churches places where the practice of them flourishes? In what kind of environment do they flourish? Gifts flourish in environments that are safe. By that, I mean there’s no comparing and belittling. They’re also environments which provide concrete opportunities for people to use their gifts. How do we stimulate this type of environment?

A Sandwich … of Sorts

We make sandwiches! Yup, that’s right, sandwiches. Bear with me …

The day before I wrote this, my five-and-a-half-year-old wanted to make a sandwich all by himself. A first. It was better for both of us if I didn’t watch because, as a recovering perfectionist, I can kill the cycle of learning by intervening at the first mistake in a nanosecond, but I told him to let me know if he needed help. I stayed in the kitchen with him but kept doing my own thing.

He pushed his stool up to the fridge door, opened it, and proceeded to get out the cheese, lunch meat, ketchup, and cucumbers. I wasn’t aware that he knew where they were before this moment. He then asked for his knife, the dull one that he’d already learned to use, and the peeler. With the addition of a cutting board, my suggestion, he stood at the table and cut an incredibly thick slice of cheese and two even thicker slices of ham. The ketchup, already on the bread, was spilling over the sides like lava flowing from an erupting volcano.

“I love ketchup,” he chuckled as he added cheese and ham.

Next came the tricky part: peeling the cucumber.

“Not toward yourself,” I reminded him as I looked over. “You can cut your finger that way.”

“Ok,” he said and thirty seconds later added, “I almost cut myself, but I didn’t. Oh, I forgot … away from myself. I did it like this instead of like this. I love cucumbers! I cut three slices, but only two fit on my sandwich. I’ll put the other one on the side.”

I turned around and saw that he was holding up his sandwich for inspection. It teetered on the plate, the hefty cucumber chunks—I can’t call them slices in good conscience—holding on for dear life. And you know what? It was perfect. I was so proud of him that I took a picture and sent it to my husband and then to my mom.

He sat eating his sandwich, or trying to, as the slip and slide that the excess ketchup created proved difficult for small fingers to grip, all with a big smile on his face. “Now I can make sandwiches whenever I’m hungry. If you’re in the other room working and Dad is on a run, I can just go make one! Uh oh, my ham fell on the floor. I need help.”

I walked over to the coffee table in the living room where he was eating. His hands were covered in ketchup and the ham was splatted on the hardwood floor. I picked it up, rinsed it off, plopped it back on the sandwich, and he ran to wash his hands.

“I put way too much ketchup,” he said from the bathroom.

When his dad got home later that day, even before his shoes were off his feet, my son said, “Dad, I made a sandwich all by myself.”

It was THE news for the day.

I wasn’t sure he could do it, but he did do it. If I hadn’t let him try it, though, I still wouldn’t know that he could do it. It was the beginning of him gaining a new skill and of me handing over control and perfection—great things for both him and me.

Embrace the Process

I’m not suggesting that sandwich making is a spiritual gift, but as I discover the gifts that the Lord has given me, and clumsily begin to try to use them, I often feel like I’m making a very ugly sandwich. I almost cut myself, everything is sliced into the wrong shape ,and the result is barely consumable. But, just as I didn’t expect my son’s first sandwich to be perfect and was just excited he was trying, the Lord also prioritizes effort over results. He knows that if I’m not willing or given the chance to make my first ugly sandwich, I’ll never learn to make one at all.

Once we’ve discovered what our gifts are, or are at least getting an idea of what they are, we start talking with others about said gifts and ones that they have. We’ve come to a new crossroads. Are we going to stay on the path of discussing and pondering or are we going to open the fridge, get out the cheese, and start making a sandwich? Why not do both? Discussing and pondering are both vital, but so is action. If someone in your church has the gift of teaching and is encouraged to use that gift but never given an opportunity to teach, how are they supposed to grow and develop that gift? Through mentorship, a seminar maybe, or talking and learning from other teachers, they could develop and grow their knowledge of teaching. But leaders of the church have the responsibility to encourage believers to “try out” the things they are learning. At some point, there must be room for a teacher to stand up and teach.

My son has watched me make a million sandwiches. He had learned what goes on the sandwich, and in what order, just by watching me. Recall that he even knew where in the kitchen to find each ingredient. Theoretically, he could make a perfect sandwich, but practically there was no muscle memory in his little fingers for it. Practice hardly ever matches theory in a perfect cookie-cutter way, so we need to adjust our expectations as leaders or mentors.

We do this naturally with kids. We give them a spoon when they are old enough to grasp it, and eventually they learn to guide it to their mouth And then slowly, we let them make their own sandwiches. We know it’ll be a process. Sometimes in church though, there’s little of this type of hands-on learning. But we need it. As difficult as it is to admit, I’m often like my kindergartener with no practical experience about a thing, even about a thing like my spiritual gifts.

I grew up in the church. I was there at least twice a week and very involved. And while they did many things well, I was rarely encouraged to explore my gifts in that safe environment that was founded on the Word of God. I needed someone to let me struggle through making a sandwich by myself. The truth is, this kind of learning will be messy. That’s fine. Just like a mom or dad will help a child who’s struggling to learn the art of sandwich making, so should spiritual mothers and fathers. They should be available to redirect the hand, slow it down, and to wipe a face when it gets ketchup all over it. They cheer on and are there when the learner gets frustrated in the learning process, but a wise father and mother will cultivate new skills by hands-on learning. Maybe the first step is a seminar or having a coffee with someone who has the gift you’re interested in exploring. Maybe it’s joining a ministry that already exists in your church or town that will help you try out your gift. Maybe it’s praying with a friend for the Lord to give you courage to start practicing using your gift. The specifics aren’t as important as is the act of stepping out and beginning.

Hands-on learning can be formal or informal. I’ve been a part of very useful seminars that had the time divided into a lecture segment and then a practical application of the lecture. Activities or workshops were planned specifically for the purpose of practicing what we’d just been learning. I’ve also learned by trying things out in our home group, which is a safe environment for me. Slowly, as I’ve tried many different things, I’m getting an idea what my gifts are and where I can invest more time and energy.

This’s not to say that I’m never asked to step out of my comfort zone and do something that I might not necessarily have a strong gifting to do. That’s a topic for another time But in those times where I’m asked to step out, I lean into the giftings of my brothers and sisters. I pull on their strengths. I may know how to make a ham and cheese like nobody’s business, but what if I’m asked to make a Reuben? (I don’t even know what it is. I had to Google it.) Then, I remember a friend of mine makes them all the time, and I pick up the phone. They walk me through each step or maybe offer to come show me how to make it just right. Through the experience, I might discover that I’ve a knack for making Reubens, or I may struggle the whole time and never make one again. Too much sandwich talk?

That point is, when our churches, whether in a formal setting or in our living rooms, encourage this type of hands-on learning, with loving oversight, I believe the giftings of each person will begin to surface. These kinds of environments also make it more difficult for a spirit of comparison to arise. If I recognize my role, like I did with my son in the kitchen, as mother, then I’m not going to laugh at someone’s teetering first sandwich and say, “I can make one so much better. Throw that in the trash; it’s no good. I’ll show you how it’s really done.” No. I know that my son, or whoever I’m in the kitchen with, is learning and so have a completely different approach. I encourage, give guidance when I think it’s necessary, and praise their efforts. I’m observing and praying. Maybe the Lord is using this moment to reveal a new gift that could encourage the entire body of Christ. What’s my role? How can I come along side to see that gift grow and thrive?

Let Them Try

Sometimes, I’m the sandwich maker in the kitchen and then there’s really no room for comparison because I can see what my sandwich looks like. If I’m not alone in the kitchen though, but part of a group of newbies, it’s trickier because my pride and insecurity are crouching at the door. But if I recognize that pride and insecurity are there and nail them to the cross, I can be freed from their power over me. I can be free to develop my new gift and free to allow those around me to develop theirs, without obsessing over who’s progressing the quickest.

Each church has to figure out how to create these sandwich-making opportunities in a way that fits into the size, age, location, and make-up of their congregation. The specifics of what those opportunities will look like are less important than the environment they’re created in. We must create places that encourage hands-on learning and be prepared for the imperfection and mess that naturally comes with that.

Spiritual gifts have an amazing potential to strengthen, encourage, and equip the body of Christ, but trying one out for the first time is intimidating. Let’s create spaces that cultivate learning and be unashamed of the imperfection that comes along the way. If you’re a leader like me, let’s encourage and tutor. Stay in the kitchen, patiently ready to answer questions or to give guidance and maybe have a few wet wipes handy, just in case. If you’re making your first sandwich, go for it! Grab an expert who’s willing to hang out in the kitchen with you and remain open to their wisdom and direction as you roll up your sleeves and start practicing your gifts.

Editor’s Note: This is the second article in the Power and Role of Just One Color series. Click here to read the first article, published on February 6, 2024.

How can we become adept at recognizing our own gifts as well as those of local brothers and sisters?

This is one of the questions we asked in the first article of this series. Remember the monochromatic painting? I’m willing to bet that no great painter would stake his reputation on his ability to paint a masterpiece with just one color. It’d be silly, not to mention immature. That’s how small children color; it’s not how artists paint.

So Much Purple

I was teaching Sunday School last week, and at the end of class, we were each coloring a picture of the twelve disciples. I looked over at the little girl sitting next to me and noticed that she was coloring each disciple with the same purple colored pencil.

“Do you want to use a different color like green or red for these other disciples?” I asked.

“No, purple” was her reply, and that was that. She was leaving no doubt as to which color was her favorite.
I smiled.

I wasn’t baffled by her choice because she’s five and loves purple. Nothing out of the ordinary there. But imagine that instead of children, I was surrounded professional painters who’d been asked to recreate “The Last Supper” by Leonardo da Vinci. We start painting and I notice the guy next to me painted all the disciples purple. In the least, I would wonder, who let this guy in? (If this was a true story, by the way, I wouldn’t be there either. I can hold my own with five-year-olds, but adults are way out of my league.) This isn’t a real life example though, so I’m there. I would want to ask him why he chose to make them all look the same, and didn’t he know that representing them that way made them emotionless and one-dimensional? My thought might be, does he need more colors because I have some right here and will share? Does he need help with shading and mixing colors because there’re lots of artists here to ask for advice?

Using only purple wouldn’t make sense. As artists mature, so does their ability to combine just the right amount of each color to achieve the desired shade. They master seeing which white has grey undertones, which has yellow, and which is just white. They know what colors to pair together to create drama and tell a story.

Maybe it’s a cheesy example, but hopefully I’m driving home the ridiculousness of a mature person creating one-tone purple disciples.

Bringing in All the Colors

Scene shift: We’re sitting in church on Sunday morning, surrounded by modern disciples of Jesus. Real ones with blood pumping through their veins. Looking around the room, would you be able to pick out the gifts of those around you or would they all be purple generic disciples? I’m not suggesting that you need to know every gift of every person in your church, but of those who you know well, can you name them? Could they name yours?

If your answer is yes, that’s amazing. Keep leaning into each other’s gifts. Keep encouraging those around you to use their gifts.

If your answer was, “That’s a lot of purple.” Where do you start? How do we make sure that the church is full of each and every beautiful and essential color. Every gift we have testifies to the life and work of Jesus Christ and is indispensable to the health of the body as a whole. They point to the truth of the gospel that He embodied each in a unique way. Having vibrant, functioning gifts in the church is easier to talk about than to do. But it’s possible.

So how do we move out of being a purple mass and into discovering our own gifts and those of our brothers and sisters? This is a good question for friends to discuss over coffee. I’ll add my suggestions below, but don’t stop with mine. Grab some friends, a Bible, a beverage of choice, and brainstorm.

Time

Let’s get the hardest one out of the way. Our realities are stuffed with activities and appointments, so deliberately making rhythms that invest in friendships isn’t easy, and once the space is made, it still takes time for a relationship to deepen. Patiently waiting is something we aren’t used to. Sometimes friendships are jumpstarted by an intense, shared experience like a missions trip or college community living, or even a crisis, but usually it’s slow and steady. Years of earning trust and giving it. As we share life with our church family, we also share our gifts. They become revealed over time to others and to ourselves, if there’s room for that kind of sharing. I think that recognizing our gifts often happens like this. Sometimes a person has a very obvious gifting that smacks you in the face when you meet them, but for the rest of us, time is needed to peel back the layers.

Then, as time goes on and gifts are revealed, an amazing opportunity unfolds before the church: The chance to confirm the gifts that have come to the surface. The example of this that comes to my mind is in Acts 13 when Paul and Barnabas were separated out by the Holy Spirit and sent on their first missionary journey. Verse one reveals that a small group of men were prophets and teachers, Paul and Barnabas being included among them, and they were praying and fasting when the Lord spoke. Their gifts were already recognized by their fellow brothers and then confirmed by the laying on of hands. How encouraging it is when someone who knows us well says, “Yes, I see that you have that gift. You should totally go and use it.”

Love

Another thing essential to recognizing our own and others’ giftings is love. This might be just as hard as the time one; no one said this would be easy. 1 Corinthians offers the big picture of the purpose of our gifts. It tells us that they’re an outpouring of love, to benefit each other and build up each other. I haven’t been given the gift of leadership in order to get ahead or to make a name for myself. I have that gift in order to stir up, inspire, and guide my brothers and sisters to worship. Not worship me, but our Lord. Love infuses our gifts with life-giving power and humility. It frees us from our obsession to look out for number one. It makes leadership kind, giving meek, prophecy selfless, and miracles without envy.

It teaches us to pray, “What role would you have me play in this situation? What gifts are needed? Do I have any of them? If not, who does and how can my giftings empower theirs in this situation?” We don’t always need to be main participants for our gifts to be used for the building up of the church. The supporting gifts are just as vital as the ones they’re holding up, and the beautiful thing is that these positions constantly change. Preaching might be the gift on display during a sermon, but the moment it’s over, other gifts like knowledge, exhortation, and evangelism might take center stage as they work the message into the hearts of the hearers. Then comes mercy to walk beside them and hospitality to welcome them back again, prophecy to clarify, miracles to restore. I could go on. The spotlight of the church should be constantly rotating to highlight the gift that is more appropriate for each given situation.

Humility

The last essential that came to my mind was humility; knowing what we are and what we aren’t. In this context, knowing which gifts we have and which we don’t.

A friend of mine is going through a huge life transition and the idea of working through the changes with someone in the form of debrief came up as we were talking. She expressed a desire to be debriefed, but didn’t know anyone who could do it. Everything in me was screaming, “I will! I can!”

The first part of that cry was true, but not the second. I have zero training in debriefing. I can’t debrief someone in the official sense of that word. I can be a friend, but she needed someone who knew what they were doing, and I wasn’t it. It was a rare time in my life that I actually recognized my limitations. I triumphantly came home and declared, “I was at ___’s house and she needs to be debriefed. I wanted to volunteer myself, but didn’t.” Part of knowing our gifts is knowing what they aren’t.

There has to be a pause here for a warning. Let’s not get lazy and use that as an excuse to disobey. “Oh I don’t have the gift of evangelism (I really don’t), so I can’t just share the gospel with someone.” No go, sister. Every believer is called to be able and ready to share the hope that’s in them (1 Peter 3:15). That hope is Jesus, and talking about Him will inevitably lead you to share the gospel. Recognizing the lack of a certain gift isn’t the same as avoiding an uncomfortable situation or an uncomfortable aspect of the Christian life.

A healthy way of seeing what we’re not looks like this: Let’s say the church needs an office administrator and your name comes up. You know that’s not one of your gifts nor do you have the skill-set to match that gift, so you graciously decline. This isn’t disobedience; it’s discernment.

Unsure if you’re in the first or second situation? Ask! Trusted, mature believers often see things that we miss.

And go back to love. Would it be loving to take a position that I’m not gifted or qualified for? I’m probably going to leave a mess behind me that someone else will have straighten out. On the other hand, would it be loving to try to share the love of Christ with someone even if my methods or words are clunky and awkward? Yes, it would. Filter the situation through love. Would it be loving, or insert the definition of love from 1 Corinthians 13, and say, “Would it be patient, kind, etc., to do or not do this thing?”

One other question to ask is this: Is this an opportunity for me to develop a new skill and improve in an area that’s not my natural gifting? I’ve grown so much in areas that I’m not naturally gifted in by having friends who are gifted in those things and learning from them. Like my friend from the first article. Even though I don’t have the gift of discerning spirits to the degree that I can sense demonic activity in a room, I’ve learned new skills in that area that help me. My brothers and sisters have taught me how to ask certain questions, look for certain behaviors, and process a situation with them after. All of these have encouraged me and built me up to face situations that are outside of my gifting. They’ve taught me that I can grow and that I’m not alone in the process.

Spiritual gifts, when used and mixed together, create a masterpiece. And a curious thing happens when you look at the picture as a whole. No one color dominates. They all work together to point to the bigger picture: the subject of the painting, Jesus Christ.

Next Time

We will dive into the next two questions:

-How can we, as a church, facilitate opportunities for gifts to develop?

-How can we use our gifts to work together, strengthening and encouraging, instead of being threatened by, or competing with, each other?

Walking through the front door didn’t change my mood or affect my spiritual sensibilities. The mother was lying on the couch, sick. Three of her four kids were sitting on the couch next to her. I greeted each of them and sat in the chair on the other side of the room before noticing that my three-year-old still stood in the doorway staring at me. I studied him with slightly furrowed brows. It was true that he was in a new place, but unfamiliar surroundings had yet to stop him from bounding into a room chattering away to whoever would listen—friends or strangers. I invited him to come in and sit next to me, to which he responded, “Mama, let’s go home.”

That’s weird, I thought. He’s never done that before. “We just got here,” I responded. “Come sit with me.” He did obey but walked over to me very slowly, his eyes scanning the room before landing on me. Once he reached my chair, he sat with me the entire visit. For my turbo-powered boy, this was unusual. I hadn’t planned to stay long anyway, just to check in on the mom who’d been really ill, but cut my visit even shorter because of my son. For some reason, he didn’t want to be there. At all.

I tried to explain away his odd behavior. Maybe it’s the dim lighting, I thought. Or maybe seeing a sick person in bed makes him feel uncomfortable. Maybe he’s having an off day. Even though I’d come to that house a couple of times before, maybe he was just hesitant because it was his first time. But that didn’t really fit with his personality, and for the rest of that day, the image of him standing in the doorway staring at me was in the forefront of my mind.

He wasn’t just asking to go home. His eyes were saying, “We need to go right now.” He was trying to tell me that something was wrong. But nothing was, and though the house was new to him, the people inside it weren’t. He’d seen them more than once at church. He’s only three, but what if he was feeling the way he was for a reason? I remember thinking.

The Mystery Solved

I was thinking about it so much that I finally decided to talk to one of my friends about it. I knew that she’d visited that same house a few days after me, and I also knew that she had the gift of discerning the spirits. (To learn more about this spiritual gift and others, see I Corinthians 12:4-11.) “This is a weird question,” I said, as we sat sipping on cups of coffee, “but did you feel any demonic activity in ___’s house when you were there a couple of days ago?”

She straightened in her seat and looked straight into my eyes, “Why do you ask?”

I told her about my visit and my son’s strange behavior there. “I don’t know if he was sensing something or if he was just nervous about being in a new place.”

“He wasn’t just nervous,” she said. “There’s definitely a demonic presence in that house. He might’ve been sensing something and trying to tell you.”

“Wow,” I said. “I felt nothing. No demonic presence and no discomfort. Hmmm.”

“He could be more sensitive to those things than you are. He’s young, but it’s good to be aware of. He might be able to feel the spiritual realm more than you. Some people can do so more than others.”

With that, the mystery was solved, and the conversation flowed on to other topics. I laid the incident to rest because I trusted this friend and knew that if she said something was going on in that house, then there was something going on in that house. Not being able to sense it, though, made me feel lame. My three-year-old was picking up on demonic activity more than I was, and the temptation was to beat myself up about it.

But I chose not to. I believe that walking into a room and being able to discern spiritual activity is a gift that some are given, and some aren’t. It doesn’t mean that those who have this gift are closer to the Lord or more spiritual. It just means that they’ve been given that particular gift. While I should always be growing in discernment and wisdom, I might not ever be able to walk into a room and instantly feel the presence or absence of demonic activity. The Spirit, in His perfect will, has chosen to give me other gifts. No gift is more or less important than another, and no one has them all. This is one reason that we need each other (1 Peter 4:10-11).

My friend’s gifting helped me make sense of my experience. She was able to speak truth and guidance into my situation because of her gift, and it’s happened more than once. I’ve learned to rely on her and other people in my church who have this gift. There’ve been other times that my son has sensed something, or that even I have sensed that something, is “off” or that others have shared with me about their encounters with demonic forces.

And in each of these cases, I needed the help of my brothers and sisters who have different giftings than I do. I need their gifts to come in and fill the void in mine. When this happens, we share deep fellowship as the Spirit in them flows out and meets my questions and searching. Their strength in this area makes up for my weakness.

No Need to Be a Maverick, Just a Color Painted In

I don’t see a call in Scripture to possess every spiritual gift, and that’s a relief. Think of the pressure!

Instead, an exhortation is repeated to build each other up with the unique gifts that each has been given. Not having all gifts is not a limitation but an opportunity to cultivate relationships and dependence. The D-word makes me uncomfortable, if I’m honest. In my pride, I’d rather be able to do everything on my own and leave the interdependence for the weak. But God, in His grace, is correcting my perspective. He’s showing me what a blessing it is to be interdependent. I exhaust myself trying to be all and do all—something I was never created to be and do.

I was created to be an integral part of a living organism. One part. A member of a body of distinct and unique people with Spirit-infused gifts that together, as a unit, breathe out life and truth, transforming the world around it. I was created to bring a vital set of gifts to that body, not to bring them all (Romans 12:3-8).

In other words, I’m one color, not the whole painting.

Close your eyes and picture a painting that is only one color. Not light blue and navy blue and turquoise, but one blue because even shades of the same color are created by combining different colors. One color means just one shade of blue. It might be possible to paint something like this, but it wouldn’t be multi-dimensional, and it’d be boring. Without different colors, there’d be no way to create interest with depth because, for that, you need contrast. All the colors working together is what dazzles the eye and pulls it in. One color all by itself is pretty, but it isn’t a work of art.

The opposite is also true. Removing one color from a painting would ruin it. “The Starry Night” by Vincent van Gogh, with all blue removed, wouldn’t only lose its beauty, it’d also fail to accurately represent what the artist had set out to paint. An artist skillfully chooses colors, mixes them with care, and places them on a specific area of the canvas. In the same way, we were skillfully chosen, mixed together with other believers, and placed in a local church: a body of Christ (I Corinthians 12:12-25).

In the following series of articles, I want to explore what being one color mixed and painted into a myriad of others looks like practically. How can our local churches reflect the reality that each person’s spiritual gifting is meant to build up those of others? How can we, as one color, fit ourselves into the bigger picture, adding beauty and life, drawing in those looking from afar? How does doing this turn our attention to the Creator of the picture as a whole and away from each individual color?

Questions We’ll Explore in the Upcoming Series

These are some of the questions we will explore together as we dive deeper into the following concepts:

How can we become adept at recognizing our own gifts as well as those of local brothers and sisters?

How can we, as a church, facilitate opportunities for gifts to develop?

How can we use our gifts to work together, strengthening and encouraging, instead of being threatened by or competing with each other?

Book Reviews

Mike Dente

Hard is Only Half the Story: Real Adventures From My Journey Into the Unknown is a poetical book exploring cross-cultural ministry’s deeper side. Beginning with the opening poem and with each chapter, Wendy Zahorjanski unveils her spiritual, emotional, and psychological journey. Yet it’s not a Mémoire or a Confession. She uses both first and second-person voices to bring us along with her while adding a well-crafted summary that adds an aspect of encouraging and instructing.

Honestly, I think this book would’ve been helpful for me as I made my way through the wilds of missionary life. Her inviting style made me want to read with a cup of coffee. But the subject matter never let me get too comfortable; the lessons are subtle and profound amid prose that draws us in, like talking to a friend.

I enjoyed Wendy’s transparency. She lets us see the reality of her heart and the very human struggles of being a cross-cultural minister. She doesn’t allow us to get off the hook easily; she invites us to look into our hearts and see what lies in the dark corners. In this way, she paints an accurate picture of the most challenging yet rewarding parts of missionary life. Although she shows hope in Jesus, this book is not afraid to look into the darkness and doesn’t shy away from the real pain of ministry.

Elaine O’Connor

Editor’s Note: I also read Wendy’s latest book and can’t keep quiet about its potential to inspire and encourage solo readers and groups alike. Here goes. –Elaine O’Connor

As someone who wants to remember what I’ve read, to have it impact my life, I was thrilled to discover Wendy included a list of key takeaways at the end of each chapter—as well as Discussion Questions and a Verse for Meditation for each chapter (located at the end of the book). They serve as bookends of sorts, increasing the possibility that Wendy’s goal of “attempt[ing] to expand your perception of the unknown” is met.

I read this book three times and have been thinking about it quite a bit. As a result, the way I look at the unknown has morphed from one of fear to one of anticipation. I’m an extremely grateful reader.

To give you a sense of what I’ve been experiencing, here’s a peek at the “Things Worth Remembering” from chapter four:

• Strange people and strange places = spike in humility
• You will, at some point, be embarrassed
• Open yourself to the idea that it can be the source of growth
• Don’t run
• Allow yourself to be rebuilt

Suffice it to say this book has earned a spot on my books-I’ll-read-again-and-again bookshelf.

Of note, Wendy dedicated this book to her fellow cross-cultural workers. She wanted to encourage them to keep following and to keep looking … “no matter how dark the shadows grow.” Although not a cross-cultural worker myself (in the strictest sense of the term), I benefitted greatly—as have those I’ve engaged with. I sense the same will happen to anyone who contemplates the wisdom Wendy’s latest book has to offer.

I could go on, but I think I’ll let the book speak for itself.

From the back cover of Hard Is Only Half the Story: Real Adventures From My Journey Into the Unknown by Wendy Zahorjanski:

“Do you ever feel that if life was just a little bit easier, it would be a hundred times better?

In this faith-filled, open-hearted memoir, author Wendy Zahorjanski proves that the opposite is true. When we go through difficult times and trials in life, hard is only half the story. As Zahorjanski explores the journey into grief, doubt, and struggle, she admits that she was surprised to find joy, faith, and friendship on the other side.

In a culture that both intrigued and confronted all of her expectations, Zahorjanski was forced to embrace imperfection, look past seeming dichotomies, and be willing to let her well-laid plans for her life look as if they had turned to mush.

Take a walk into the woods with this raw, real account of one Christian missionary’s hike into the unknown where you’ll learn how to:

• Embrace vulnerability to find some of the most precious moments in life.
• Experience that even when things are far from perfect, God still is.
• Laugh at the failures and absurdities that happen with authentic joy.
• Honestly look at your past and present hours of grief and embrace the person they’ve helped you become.
• Take a look at who God is making you into, one persistent action at a time.

This book is an invitation to step beyond the veil of fear to enrich your existence with the rawness of life by looking to God: the bringer of life and healer of sorrows.

Are you ready to embrace the hard moments in your life so that you can finally see what the other half of hard can really bring? It’s time to lean into the transformation that awaits you. Grab your copy of Hard Is Only Half the Story: Real Adventures From My Journey Into the Unknown today.

Wendy Zahorjanski is a nonfiction writer whose life has been an incredible journey guided by faith. Her writing goal is to unveil the amazing moments of opportunity and spiritual growth concealed within seemingly unsurmountable moments.“

This past spring, several friends and I started a community garden. Some of us had experience gardening, and some of us did not. I was in the latter group, but enthusiasm had me counting down the days until the soil would be warm enough to begin planting.

Finally, by the end of April, the conditions were right, and one of the first things we stuck in the prepared ground were potatoes. We were committed to avoiding harmful chemicals in our garden but were also aware that potatoes have an infamous arch nemesis: Leptinotarsa decemlineata, aka the potato beetle. If left alone, these insects can completely defoliate an entire plant, destroying it and significantly decreasing crop yields. They multiply quickly and are ruthless eaters. One way to prevent them is to spray pesticides, but since we had decided to go organic, we were left to find another alternative.

Find Them and Squish Them

We decided to pick them off one by one as they appeared. This is just as tedious as it is gross. The picking-off part is fine. Gloves and a jar keep tiny crawling legs from coming into contact with skin, but after being collected, the bugs must be destroyed. Fingers or rocks, it doesn’t matter the tool of choice; the pop sound of their shell being crushed is the same. So is the sight of little beetle guts oozing out everywhere. Not one of us looked forward to that part of the task, but knowing the damage they would do if not destroyed gave us enough motivation to stick with it until it was finished. Potato beetles lay their eggs on the underside of leaves, so finding those required us to slow way down and inspect each leaf. One cluster of eggs missed would result in a horde of adult beetles.

As a novice gardener, my first priority was to learn what these beetles looked like because I didn’t want, in my ignorance, to kill a beneficial garden bug. I needed to recognize this pest in all its stages of life: eggs, larva, pupa, and adult. Then, armed with my new knowledge, gloves, and a glass jar, I’d be ready to take up my vigil. The plants needed to be checked every time we went out to the garden, and sometimes I didn’t feel like doing it. It seemed to take forever to do, and it was boring. I would rather have done other things in the garden, even weed. At least when weeding, you have visible evidence of your work. A nicely weeded garden row is very satisfying and pretty to look at.

De-beetling the potatoes, however, is invisible work. Standing back, you wouldn’t notice the bugs, unless there were an infestation of them, and that means that the ‘before’ and ‘after’ picture of beetles vs. no beetles look just about the same. No Instagram picture opportunity there. What is noticeable are the effects of not taking the time to destroy the pest. Avoiding or ignoring this mundane task leads to death. Death of the plant above ground and death of the potato it feeds underground. Talk about noticeable.

So, pull off the bugs we did. Even though we were diligent, it would have been an unrealistic goal to try to keep every beetle from ever stepping foot into our garden. These insects will come and inevitably will eat some of the leaves they find, but a complete takeover can be prevented. If kept under control, the leaves they eat will not adversely affect an otherwise healthy potato plant. The plant can produce new leaves to replace the nibbled ones, and the potatoes will turn out just fine.

Notice that I said an otherwise healthy plant. What would happen if we had decided to spend all our time going after the beetles? The weeds would choke the plant out because we didn’t take time to clear the dirt around the roots. The sun would burn the leaves because we didn’t take time to water. And, the soil would fail to nourish the plant because we didn’t take time to replenish it. The reason would be different, but the result would be the same: no potatoes.

It was not enough just to kill the pest. We also had to set aside time and energy to nurture the plant. We had to become experts in cultivation as well as extermination. The ultimate goal is to do both in tandem, maximizing growth and minimizing harm.

Potato Bugs in My Heart

This goal of feeding the good and starving the bad is the same in my life as it is in my garden, just more subtle. Unlike the beetles and potato plants, the battle between life and death wages under the surface. My potato beetles are the invisible thoughts and lustful passions found in my heart. The Apostle Paul calls them the earthly things, and while he didn’t write an exhaustive list of what they are, he did give us quite a few examples, including covetousness, impurity, anger, wrath, and malice: universal pests that we all fight or have fought against. Paul warns us to put them to death, and for good reason. If left to their own, they’ll destroy us as they tear through our lives with their insatiable ardour in order to rule over us.

The first step in the battle against these foes is the same as it is with the beetles. We must be able to recognize them in all of their nasty forms. Thankfully, we have help. The Holy Spirit and the Holy Scripture are our main guides, but the church is also indispensable in helping us to recognize, pluck out, and remove these menaces.

It does no good to recognize and find them, just to put them in our jars for analyzing and self-sabotaging guilt-tripping. Paul’s call is to get rid of them by killing them, not to save them and be condemned by them. It is interesting to note that not once does Paul tell us to be ashamed of those worldly things that pester our lives, but he is straightforward in his exhortation: put them to death, put them off, crucify them. This is the language of extermination, and Paul employs it because he knows that these things have no place in our new identity in Christ. They are sin and they lead to one place: death.

Help!

How do you kill invisible heart issues? Do you punish yourself by always putting yourself down in your thoughts and your words? Should you deny yourself all pleasure? Maybe physically beating the sin out of you is the way? While creative, all these methods have been tried, and they failed. The truth is we can’t do it on our own. We need someone to save us and that’s just what Jesus did.

He came to save us from being overrun. In fact, we were already overrun. We were dead. We had no hope. The infestation was already in full force. No amount of picking and removing could clear our hearts of the sin with which it was inundated. We needed someone to come despite the mess and free us. And Jesus did. On the cross, He saved us from the power and dominion of sin and resurrected us. He didn’t just give us a new garden-heart completely separate from the old one. Nope. He resurrected the dead one right where it was, drowning in beetles, igniting life where there was none. His death and resurrection squashed the power of sin, making way for the power of life to be released. He exterminated one in order to cultivate the other.

Extermination of sin isn’t an end in and of itself. It clears the way for what is to follow, but we can easily become so obsessed with finding each and every beetle that we neglect the other elements essential to overall spiritual health. This, too, is the lesson of the potato bug. Killing them, although important, doesn’t guarantee that you will harvest potatoes, and as shocking as it might seem, putting to death the works of the flesh does not automatically ensure that we will live an empowered, fruitful Christian life.

When we decide to follow Jesus, we are freed from the overwhelming force of sin in our lives and are filled with the Holy Spirit. The Spirit in us produces fruit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. The potential is there from the moment we believe, just like the potential for the potato plant to flourish is there from the moment the tuber is planted in good soil, but in both cases, health has to be maintained for fruit to mature.

Cultivating Love

So, how do we unleash the potential and reap the biggest harvest possible? This is an important question when gardening and even more important when cultivating our spirits. The answer that Scripture gives is so simple that it is frustrating. Love God. What? That’s it? Yes, loving God looks very similar to loving my garden and potato plants.

An onlooker can see that I love my garden because I set aside time and energy to be in it. It is obvious that I enjoy working in it. It is not a duty most of the time, but I did make a commitment to it, so discipline and consistency are a must. More often than now, I am sad to leave it and want to stay just a little bit longer. Love for my garden evidences itself in my fascination with it. I walk through it, carefully examining vegetables and plants, wanting to learn more about them. What do the leaves look like? How and where does the fruit form? How does the plant grow? Tall and skinny, bushy and wide?

I want to know my garden better and better. I read about gardening when I’m not in it. I talk to experienced gardeners to get their advice and suggestions. I inspect other’s gardens to learn tricks and get inspiration. I work in my garden alone and with others, recognizing that both have advantages. I also protect my garden. I put a fence around it to protect it, mostly from my dog Sven, but also from other animals. I water it to protect it from drought and pick off those pesky potato bugs to protect it from harm.

Loving God looks like setting aside time and energy to be with Him: to experience and enjoy Him. This can be in prayer, meditating on scripture, walking in His creation, spending time with His people, singing praise to Him through songs, etc.

Allow yourself to be fascinated by Him. Dig deep into the Scriptures and other books holding to the same truth. Learning more about who He is, what He is like, and what He is not like is a good way to nurture your love for Him.

Talk with other experienced lovers of God. Learn from their example. Observing how they love God will enrich your love for Him.

Pray. It is the water that brings vitality to our inner lives and love for God.

Last but not least, protect your love for Him. Make boundaries to keep the enemy out and get rid of those beetles.

Scriptures for Meditation:

Ephesians 4:22-24: “to put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness.”

Colossians 3:5-10: “Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry. On account of these the wrath of God is coming. In these you too once walked, when you were living in them. But now you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk from your mouth. Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have put off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator.”

Hebrews 12:1: “Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us,”

This article was supposed to be about John Chrysostom and the historical roots of expositional preaching. It is not.

It did not take me long to realize that I had seriously underestimated the time and effort it would take to really understand John as a preacher. I was in over my head as I thought that I could do a couple of days of research and then write a stellar article about him being the first expositional preacher. Ha! As a little boy I know always says, “silly me.” John wrote volumes and volumes and the number of his sermons that are preserved are staggering. And that is only what he wrote! Countless people also wrote about him.

I have seen icons depicting him holding a Bible or a scroll, looking solemn and stoic in churches and on peoples walls, but never knew why he was holding them, and then I learned that he taught verse-by-verse through books of the Bible in the late 300’s B.C. in the High Church, which intrigued me. Before this, I had thought that expositional teaching was the brain-child of the protestant church. There are biblical examples of this style of teaching, which I was aware of, going all the way back to Moses. But outside of the biblical narrative, I thought it was a protestant thing. John’s hundreds and hundreds of preserved sermons proves that wrong.

Expositional Teaching in the Late 300’s B.C.

He loved teaching the Word of God and used it as a tool to help people move closer to God. He explained the scriptures in a plain way so that his congregation could understand the Gospel. He did this until his death, and eventually his extraordinary preaching and living out what he preached was recognized by the church and he was made a saint both in the Catholic and Orthodox churches and given the name Chrysostom, which means, “golden mouth.”

In the part of the world that I live in, saints play a major role in the Orthodox Church, one of them being that each family has a patron saint who has one calendar day each year dedicated to his remembrance. On this day, people take work off, prepare an elaborate feast, and invite friends over to eat and drink. Some of these celebrations have many guests and some only a few close friends, some are celebrated over several days and others just on the day of that saint.

But no matter the details, the celebration always happens. Each patron saint is passed down from father to son, and so in that sense it continues as long as the family line does. There are specific traditions to be followed on this day, both by guests and hosts. I have had the opportunity to attend many of them, including the celebration of John “Golden Mouth.” Each of these celebrations are very similar, the biggest difference being the person depicted in the icon on the wall.

While I like attending most of these kinds of celebrations because of the social aspect, they have very little to do with the actual saint. When I was invited to and attended the celebration of John Chrysostom, I left with exactly the same amount of knowledge of him as I came with. He was not talked about nor was anything about him called to remembrance in a concrete way.

The event was just a tradition, not a teaching moment, and was devoid of anything truly spiritual. John loved scripture and teaching it. So to be remembered, but in no connection with what he loved and what he stood for, was and is disappointing. Something was missing. We were celebrating something that we knew nothing about. At least I was.

Aversion to Keeping Traditions

The overwhelming emphasis the Orthodox Church puts on keeping traditions in general has led many born-again believers I know to have a strong aversion to anything that even resembles tradition. I am also in that group, but for the opposite reason. I have never been a part of a church with lots of traditions and do not see the need for them in my life.

This aversion was never challenged until a couple of months ago when someone shifted my perspective about the role that tradition and liturgy has played in church history. This person shared this analogy. The gospel is like a beautiful diamond and over time it had to be protected, so a box was made to put it in to keep it safe. That box was tradition and liturgy. They were meant to preserve the diamond that is the Gospel from outside forces, such as the Ottoman Empire which sought to stomp it out by the sword.

In this it succeeded, but slowly over time things changed until eventually the unthinkable happened. The box was closed, hiding the treasure inside. What remained visible was only the secondary things: tradition and liturgy. This tragedy is clearly seen today as most who hold the box have no idea what is inside. They do not know the beauty and life-changing truth of the Gospel, only the burden of carrying the box. The box becomes heavier and heavier as the traditions multiply and with it the guilt of falling short until finally they throw the entire box away, never having opened it.

Our task, he challenged, then becomes to compel them to open the box because once they realize what is inside by seeing it (the diamond), the box will be put in its place automatically. It will fade away in the beauty of the sparkling jewel.

The Analogy of a Closed Box

I suggest that this analogy also applies to John Chrysostom and the saints as they have suffered a similar fate. They have also become a shut box, hiding the very thing they sought to make known. John preached, persuaded, and pleaded with his congregation to be in right relationship with God and to live a life worthy of the name Christian. He spent himself trying to point people to the truth of the Gospel by explaining the written scriptures in a way that every person could understand, and he was skilled in doing this.

He held the Gospel out to others and defended it when attacked. But slowly over time, he and the others like him were used for a purpose that they were never intended to be used for. He was hailed a saint and a preacher without equal. But over time, most forgot what it was that he preached. The box was closed, a fancy dinner becoming the main thing, leaving the Gospel he so dearly loved locked away out of sight.

Opening the Box

This is not just a bummer. It needs to change, but in the process of realigning I am not sure that we have to throw the box away. Maybe it can be restored to its rightful place, just as the Gospel is returning to hers. As the box is opened, the diamond will shine and it will mesmerize. It will capture the searching heart, even if it is in a box. The only thing that matters is that it is opened.

That box makes me uncomfortable, if I am honest, and would go as far as to say that in my own life it is not needed. But not everyone is like me. They have been holding that closed box for generations, and it has become precious to them. To pry it from their hands would feel just the same as it felt when the Ottoman Empire tried, even if our motives are different. Force is not the way of wisdom.

What that man was trying to share is that wisdom is to recognize the honorable role that the box has played in history and then to gently open it, even if just a crack. The glory of the diamond will do the rest. It will sparkle even if that box has been closed for centuries. It has not changed. It was cut to perfection already. All it needs is a little light for its splendor to be revealed.

The obvious questions follows, how do we go about opening the box? This is a good and difficult question. I have some ideas, not a fix-all, end-all answer. I doubt there is only one right way to do it. Each person’s box might look a little different after all. Is their box made up of the traditions of saints being mediator to God, instead of Jesus? Or is it that being baptized as a baby into the church guarantees salvation? Maybe it is that the work of keeping traditions ensures salvation?

Each of these require a different approach, a different way of opening if you will, which means that we need wisdom: heavenly wisdom to boldly and gently open each box in the most appropriate way. It might be best done slowly over time, but then again sometimes it should be flung open, if the opportunity arises. One thing is for sure, we cannot muster up this kind of wisdom on our own, but we can ask for it.

Asking for Wisdom

That is what James tells us in his epistle. If we need wisdom, ask. It is that simple! Ask and then patiently wait for Him to answer. He will, and even if we are unsure about the exact science of how to get the lid open, we can be confident that Jesus is a good place to start.

The beauty of the life and work of Jesus is the Gospel. He is the diamond. Talking about Jesus, digging into His life through study of the scriptures, assimilating His paradigm through prayer and allowing it to shape your decisions and desires, openly, bravely following Him with all the failures and imperfections that will inevitably come and humbly admitting when we get it wrong, leaning into a loving community that will spur us on through encouragement and rebuke are all ways to crack open someone’s box.

Even when cracked open, embrace of the diamond will not always happen. It may be closed again and in that way the diamond rejected. That is a choice each heart makes for itself, but at least they will see the options clearly. At least they will see the diamond in all its glory and choose for themselves. Also, by giving this choice, by cracking that lid open, we can preserve the integrity of the saints like John Chrysostom by fighting for the same thing they fought for: to keep the magnificent Gospel visible for all to see; to keep the diamond in the light.

Click here for part 2

We’ve already looked at two ways that we can easily make people into projects, and today we tackle the third and final way. We make people into projects when discipling them becomes a task to be completed instead of a relationship to be nourished.

Too Close for Comfort

This one hits uncomfortably close to home for me. As a task-oriented person, I naturally tend to put the thing to be done above everything or everyone else. For me, success is accomplishing what I set out to do: finishing the job. This means that I’m usually focused, determined, and committed, which are great things.

I love a challenge, and difficult doesn’t intimidate me, but hidden among these strengths is a huge weakness that I must be aware of and counterbalance. Because of my strong drive to put my full attention on completing the task, I try to do the same thing in my relationships. I make friendship an assignment and push discipleship into a line on my “to do” list. When I do this, I miss the entire point of what discipleship is, and I don’t think I’m the only one missing the mark.

More Than a Program

I fear that we’ve sucked all the life out of making disciples by modeling it as a curriculum to be followed. It’s become little more than another meeting on our weekly calendar. A timeframe of several months or a year is set in which “discipling” someone is to be achieved and a specific goal met, e.g., to read a book together or to complete a bible study. Neither books nor studies are intrinsically harmful, but we must be aware of the tendency these organizational tools have of taking over.

A tool is meant to be used to aid in the process of something. It’s not an end in and of itself. Instead of a tool to guide us and our conversations, these things can quickly morph into a task to be completed. Finishing the book or the study becomes the benchmark of success.

What happens when this switch is made is that the relationship between the disciple maker and the disciple becomes secondary, or even worse, a mere imitation of a relationship instead of a genuine one. The real objective when this happens is to complete something, instead of walking alongside someone in relationship.

This becomes painfully clear after the “discipleship” program is completed. Are the two parties involved friends by the end? Not best friends, but do they have some kind of relationship with each other that doesn’t focus on the subject they studied together? Do they know about the victories and challenges in each other’s lives (not all of them, but at least some)?

While it’s unrealistic to assume that friendship will always be the natural result of discipleship, I do think it should be the norm. Time spent reading a book or studying scripture should open the door to real conversations that connect real life to real truth and nourish real friendship.

Lessons Learned

I’m passionate about this because I’ve been both the disciple and discipled others, within the context of a genuine friendship and also outside of it. I’ve seen and experienced the difference. One mentor of mine (can I use that as a substitute word for disciple maker?) was very faithful to meet with me and read through a book with me. We met at a restaurant, ate food, and talked about the book.

It was fine, but we didn’t have an authentic friendship. In fact, we had no contact outside of our meetings. Even though we went to the same small church and her son was a friend of mine, if the book wasn’t in my hand, we didn’t talk. She wasn’t involved in my life in any capacity nor was I in hers. I didn’t learn anything from her life because I had no access to it.

She was an active member of our church and a mature believer, so don’t get the idea that she didn’t love Jesus because she did. She was just following the pattern of discipleship that she’d been taught. She was prepared for our meetings and faithfully read the book with me, but after we completed the book, we stopped talking all together.

I don’t know if she felt the same way, but I remember feeling like reading that book and meeting with her were things I was supposed to do as a good Christian. For me, they were boxes to check, and once I did that, I was free to move on to the next thing.

There was another mentor however that left me with a completely difference experience. First of all, she invited me over to her house. I met her dog. I spent time with her and her husband. I wasn’t there every week or every month; it was only a couple of times. But it was enough to help fold laundry and eat snacks from her cupboard.

When she had their first baby, I babysat for her. Just once, but still our lives were connected outside of the confines of our “discipleship” in a very natural way. Shortly after having her baby, she moved away and we lost contact for many years. But this past year we exchanged a few emails and the depth found in them attests to the authenticity of our friendship all those years before.

Even though she’s older than me, she was always honest about how she was doing. She didn’t share every detail about the things she was going through, nor should she have, but I felt like we were real friends. I still do, and if I needed advice and the two of them were my only choices of people to call, I’d call the second lady, my friend.

The funny thing is, I don’t think she was any more spiritual than my first mentor, nor that she loved Jesus more. She just treated me more like a person to know instead of part of a program to be completed. Notice that, at least for a season, my interactions with both ladies ceased.

Sometimes there’s a beginning and an end in the process of discipling, so I’m not suggesting that time frames aren’t helpful or that discipleship is never-ending. But I challenge you not to make the end coincide with the last page of a book. Allow the Lord to move you or the other person on in his timing and in his way and allow him to define what discipleship looks like in between.

The Heart of It All

As I read about the life of Jesus in the gospels, I can’t find one single interaction that would lead me to believe that his disciples ever felt like they were a box for Jesus to check off of his ministry to-do list. From what I see, they had a very typical rabbi/disciple relationship: Jesus didn’t hide when exhausted, even sleeping in their presence.

They knew when he was hungry. They saw his dependence on the Father when he took time away from his hectic schedule to pray. He shared meals. They discussed an endless variety of topics, and they felt free to ask him questions about his teachings and about spirituality in general.

One thing that I personally find extremely difficult to imitate is the amount of time Jesus gave to his disciples. He was available to them daily for a period of three years, pouring endless time and energy into them. I find this impossible and long for clarity in this area.

What does it mean to disciple someone in my context? This is a question I’m currently wrestling with. So I don’t consider myself an expert disciple maker, nor have I found THE way to do it. Maybe more than one way exists.

One thing I’m sure of though: each time we’re honored with the opportunity to disciple someone, we should fall on our faces before our Father and ask for wisdom in humility realizing that we’re not Jesus.

While he did leave us an example perfect in every way, we may not be able to replicate his specific methods of discipleship, like spending every day with the disciples. But we can imitate his heart. His heart was first and foremost burning to do the will of the Father. He sought this will and then set his face like flint to follow it. He yielded every desire and life-choice to the loving guidance of his Father and as he moved along in this journey, invited others to join him.

He modeled and taught them how to completely and utterly trust in the love and faithfulness of God and his life testified to the joy and the power that trust brings. Trust to the death. Trust beyond death, to resurrection.

This is what discipleship should be. A heart struggling to trust on display. A life willing for the layers to be peeled back by another to reveal the inner workings of a prayer life filled with praises and laments, trust and honest questions. It should be a sharing in the sacred fellowship of his sufferings as well as the power of his resurrection.

If you can do that by reading a book, then read it, but don’t limit a potential friendship to the questions at the end of each chapter. Don’t believe the lie that discipling is something to be done.

Follow Jesus with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind, and when you notice someone trying to do the same, invite them in: into your heart and into your relationship with Jesus.

This article is part two of a series of three, so if you missed the first part or would like to refresh your memory, click here

Today, we shift our focus to a more subtle way that we can reduce people to projects because the truth is, we don’t always treat one another as an argument to be won. More often, we actually care about that person and want to help them. We enter the conversation with a heart that longs to fill in what the other is lacking. In other words, to serve, and this desire reflects the heart of Jesus. But as we will see in our next story, good intentions alone don’t guarantee that others are being served well.

Preaching to the Choir

Excited wouldn’t have been a fitting word to describe me in that moment. Nervous maybe, or even apprehensive, would have better correlated with my inner state as I sat and waited. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there: I did. It was just that, well, usually I don’t enjoy women’s events or women’s Bible studies. There, I said it. It’s out for the world to read and know. I love being around women, and I love studying the Bible. Yet somehow, when those two things combine, I often feel out of place and awkward. That’s a story for another day. Needless to say, I was just as unsure about this women’s event as I had been about any other.

My friend was hosting it though, and I liked her, so my logic was that maybe I would like the study too. She wasn’t teaching though, a stranger was, so I still had a little cavern of insecurity within me. We sat in a circle, and I looked around. Almost all of the faces were familiar. I knew these women: loved and respected them deeply. The newcomers might be just as amazing, I thought. I should give them a chance.

The study started, and about ten minutes in, I started thinking, oh no, not this. This poor lady has no idea who she’s talking to. She’s not just preaching to the choir; she’s preaching to the soloists who often lead the choir.

It wasn’t that her teaching was unclear. She was a good communicator. Her chosen subject was also a good one. She was exploring the topic of how to make disciples. Very applicable to every believer, no matter their geographical location or background. Making disciples is a universal call made by Jesus Himself, and therefore a great thing to talk about at a women’s Bible study, but the content she was sharing was so basic that it was almost insulting. She was explaining the theology behind disciple-making and what the practice might look like, but through the lens of an unfortunate assumption: that we knew very little about the topic.

I groaned inwardly. Sitting across from me was a lady who was, at that time, on the leadership team of an online platform for disciple-making. She responded to online inquiries from people seeking answers to spiritual questions and then slowly, through back and forth texts, unfolded the possibility of a relationship with their Creator. She was, sometimes daily, in contact with people leading them toward Jesus and toward becoming a disciple of Jesus. She is a practiced disciple-maker and has even trained others to become the same.

The lady sitting next to her co-leads a home group and disciples ladies long distance. She has a special ability to lead group discussions with all the particular challenges and dynamics which that involves. She was at that time, and is still, also using her gifts on a regular basis to make disciples.

A couple ladies down from her was a lady who serves on the board of her well-known Christian organization. She’s part of the leadership team for the entire region: a region that includes multiple countries. Her passion is Member Care, and she has been making disciples for over 30 years.

Two other ladies present are missionaries who reach out to students through the platform of a Culture Center. Their entire mission is to provide opportunities to cultivate relationships with people, and then if they are interested, to walk with them as they unpack together what it means to follow Jesus a.k.a. be His disciple.

There were also full-time children’s workers (a big part of their job being discipling children). The only person in the room who might have been hearing the concepts being taught for the first time was the translator, and while it’s good and useful to be reminded of truths already known, this bible study was geared toward an audience who had never made disciples. It was an Intro to Disciple-Making and these ladies had already taken that course.

She closed by teaching us how to pray. Literally. She taught us the ACTS of prayer. Have you heard of them? For those unfamiliar, it’s a tool which uses the acronym ACTS to teach different aspects of prayer. For example, A stands for adoration, C for confession, and so on. It’s a very basic tool that can be a helpful framework for someone who doesn’t know how to pray or is learning to pray, but it was completely incongruous with that group of ladies. It didn’t match the knowledge, ability or spiritual maturity of the group. She was bottle-feeding heavyweight champions and she had no idea.

The teacher, as I discovered through conversation with her later than evening, was a deep, thoughtful lady. I enjoyed my conversation with her immensely more than her teaching. The depth came out, her life opened up before me. She shared about her child with special needs and the struggle to find church programs that are inclusive and child care workers that are equipped to work with him.

I was screaming inside because one lady present had a child who was recently diagnosed with Autism and many of her struggles were the same, but neither of them knew it. Here was a lady from across the globe whose struggles and deepest pain echoed that of a lady from a small town an hour away. They didn’t speak the same language and their children were different ages and genders, but their journey as a mother had a lot in common. Oh how I wish that they had talked and cried with each other and encouraged each other in the unique way that only mothers with children with special needs can, but instead that local mother was taught the ACTS of prayer: again.

The study was so basic and generic that I left feeling a little bit like a project; a thing to be checked off a list even though I know that wasn’t the intention. While talking to the lady, I got the sense that she was a wonderful lady who loves Jesus, but her message was unsuitable for us. Ignorance regarding who she was addressing, led her to be ineffective in her service to us. Her good intentions weren’t enough.

It’s extremely difficult to show up and teach a group of strangers, so that needs to be acknowledged. It’s also brave to teach in a context outside of our own, but we live in a time when it’s possible to learn about a context before entering into it. There’s an overwhelming amount of information to help prepare for circumstances like that. My friend, who hosted the event, would have been a great resource to utilize because she knew most of us attending personally. She could’ve given a clear picture of who the group was and where we were at spiritually, and the assumptions made could have been avoided. Unfortunately, she wasn’t asked and as a result, the message that night didn’t strengthen or equip us. The teacher puttered around in the shallows as we sat there in scuba gear ready, longing for depth.

To serve another is both a privilege and a responsibility. It requires right desire and right action. One without the other is incomplete and possibly dangerous. Good intentions inappropriately applied can damage the one being served. It’s not enough just to want to serve. How we go about serving is just as important as our motivation for doing it. If the way we serve people looks more like accomplishing something instead of empowering someone, then we aren’t serving well. We must know the difference between serving a person and managing a project, and that’s a skill developed over time.

Serving Like a Sailor

Every ancient sailor had developed this skill of serving. It’s just instead of people, they served ropes. To serve a rope is the last step in the process of protecting it from the elements and from fray. First, the rope is smoothed out by wrapping spun yarn into the grooves (first step) and after that, strips of old canvas (step two). When that’s done, it’s ready to be served. Using a wooden mallet, made especially for this purpose, twine is firmly wrapped around the prepared area, the ball of twine often being held by another person wrapping it in the same direction, as the mallet circles the rope to keep it from tangling. Tension in the twine must be consistent as it’s wrapped and the mallet the right size for the rope. Once tied off in the proper way, it’s ready to do its job: hold things together, even during the fierce winds of a storm.

Sailors would never have served every rope in the same way. First, they had to see where it was worn out or frayed. They had to observe the rope. Then, they had to gather their tools; tools were chosen based on their initial observations. The size of the rope dictated the size of the mallet used. The length of the damage correlated to the length of the yarn, twine, and cloth strips. Next, with tools in hand, they had to worm and parcel the rope, which are the official terms for the first two steps of the process described above. Then, and only then, was the rope ready to be served.

A rope appropriately served was strengthened by the process, and in the end, more able to achieve its intended purpose. If it was served carelessly, the entire ship would be in danger, and in this way, a sailor’s skill and care to serve the ropes he was responsible for well was directly linked to the welfare of everyone on board. He knew how important each rope was and took his job seriously.

To evaluate if he had done his job well, he might have asked things like, what was the initial condition of the rope? Where exactly did it need to be served? Were the tools I used appropriate for that particular rope? Did I work with my team to make sure the rope was served in the best way possible? In what condition did I leave the rope? Is it stronger than before? Are the frayed areas covered and restored to function? Can it now be used for its intended purpose?

We might never serve ropes on a ship, but we’re all called, by God’s grace, to serve those around us, and as we serve, may we become skilled in holding projects and people in separate hands.

Taking Inventory

Questions for Reflection—Moving from Ropes to People:

What is the current condition of the person?

Where exactly does he/she need to be served?

Are the tools I’m using appropriate for this particular person?

Am I working with my team to make sure the person is served in the best way possible?

In what condition am I leaving the person?

Is he/she stronger than before?

Are the frayed areas covered and restored to function?

Can he/she now be used for his/her intended purpose (purposed by God)?

References

@Alford, Nikki. “Bessie-Ellen.” How to service (serve) a rope. November 25, 2015. https://bessie-ellen.com/how-to-service-serve-a-rope/#:~:text=The%20serving%20is%20always%20laid,hauled%20taught%20before%20cutting%20off.

Social History Curators Group. “Tools of the Trade: rope working and rigging.” YouTube, March 8, 2015. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBFNsbV_Bvs

This is the first part of three on the ease of making people into projects. Of course, the title is a little tongue-in-cheek. No one wants to reduce a person, a potential friend, down to a project, but it happens. A lot. Since I’ve seen and done this, I wanted to share my thoughts on the subject. I’ve chosen three ways, but there are more, I’m sure, so use these articles as inspiration to get your brain fired up to explore this topic.

For those who like to know where we’re going, here are the three points that will be discussed in the series:

1. We make people into projects when we reduce them to an argument to be won. Genuine friendship isn’t a debate class.

2. We make people into projects when we teach them in an inappropriate, uninformed way. Good intentions aren’t always enough.

3. We make people into projects when discipling them if it becomes a task to be completed instead of a relationship to be nourished.

Now, let’s slow down and dive in.

How Do Others Experience, or Perceive, Me?

I was sitting at a conference as the next speaker got up from his seat and moved up toward the podium. He stood behind the microphone, looking out at us, and gave his lecture. I don’t have a clue what he said. I don’t remember any of his main points and not one illustration he used. I can’t even recall the theme of the conference in general. The crazy part? That speaker told us that we’d forget everything! As he opened his notes and readied himself to dive into the topic at hand, whatever it was, he looked up and told us that we’d most likely forget everything that he said that day. I did.

“But,” he continued, “you won’t forget the way that you felt during this session and this conference.” Again, he was right. I don’t remember hardly any of the information that was shared, but I do remember the way I felt those three days … and the days that followed.

The speaker’s observation has stuck with me. Is this principle the same in my life? Do people remember how I make them feel even if they forget what I said? I think so. When I think about certain people, I either get a positive or negative feeling, even though I’m not thinking about specific things that they’ve said. They do make me feel a certain way, and I’m sure that I make people feel a certain way as well.

How people experience me is important, and it has a deep impact on my testimony as a believer. I’m not talking about people liking me necessarily; sometimes they won’t, and that’s ok. I’m also not talking about “clicking” with someone. That happens sometimes, and friendships are fast-tracked to BFF status.

I’m talking about the importance of honestly reflecting on the way in which others perceived us. If I asked five or six people how they experienced me and words like impatient, arrogant, or finicky come up more than once, it’s probably not a coincidence. There could be something there worth looking into. These observations and the feelings that they invoke, will affect my relationship with them.

Maybe an example would help.

Insights Gained While on the Receiving End

I met a man a couple of months ago, and after interacting with him, had such a negative feeling that I hope never to see him again. That sounds harsh, but it’s the way he left me feeling. Ironically, he didn’t “do” anything to make me feel bad, nor do I think that it was his intention. But in our hour-long conversation, he talked badly about neighbors, other regions of his country, and other nationalities beyond the borders of those regions. He went as far as to try to convince my friend, who was sitting next to me, that her region of the country was far inferior to his. It’ll be no surprise that this statement was the conclusion of a long monologue ripping into their mentality, customs, and local culture.

Needless to say, neither she nor I were impressed, and he did nothing to convince us that he was right. He did the opposite. He pushed us away. If I ever see him again, I have no doubt that a wave of dread will wash over me, and my mind will whirl in frantic search of any excuse not to interact with him. He lost my respect and my friendship. He could regain both of those things, but he’d have to work really hard to move me from that bad feeling to one of openness.

What were the specific things he said? I’ve no idea, but the feeling of wanting him to stop talking—and to leave—is still fresh in my mind. Whether he was aware of this or not is unclear, but of one thing, he left no doubt: He thought he was better and knew better than everyone else, including my friend and me. His knowledge was superior, his opinions more enlightened, his experiences infallible. There was no conversation. He was on a soapbox, and until he finished, we couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

I’m not that different from him, although that’s something I’d rather not admit. I love to win arguments. I love to be right and for others to know it. I love to correct others and convince them that my way is better—and just like that proud man—often forget something: Relationship is about more than winning.

You see, what the man missed was us. Even though we were sitting right in front of him, he was so busy talking about his few days spent up north that he missed the lifetime of experience that my friend had growing up there. He didn’t ask her for her opinion about his observations. He didn’t show any sign of wanting to learn from her. He knew better.

Sometimes I know better, too. I know better and that knowledge eclipses the person in front of me. I don’t think I’d ever fight to win an imaginary argument about which part of my country is better, but there are some “betters” that I’m in danger of stuffing down unwilling throats. For example, I know that life with Jesus is better than life without Him. I know that the gospel is the better power to restore and heal a soul. I know that God is better when compared to any other god.

I’m convinced of these things and want to tell others about the better way that I’ve found in Jesus, but sometimes in my passion, my attitude becomes about proving that their way of thinking isn’t as valid as mine. If I present my beliefs in rapid machine gun fashion, I shouldn’t be surprised to find a wounded person in front of me when I finish. It’s never ok to hurt someone just to prove a point, no matter how true the point is.

How Does This Understanding Impact My Witness?

If how we share the better story of Jesus is leaving people bleeding and feeling inferior, something needs to change. My words may sound over-the-top, but I encounter many people on the mission field who, because of “evangelism,” have been left scarred and alienated. They didn’t feel loved or valued. They were made to believe that their way of thinking was stupid or backward. They were told the story of amazing grace and then shown no grace during the messy process that choosing to follow Jesus can be. It was a “Jesus’ way or the highway” message. You reject Jesus and I will reject you is what was communicated, and it left deep wounds.

I have done this. Unintentionally, of course, but unintentional wounds hurt just the same as intentionally inflicted ones.

What I’m really doing when I interact this way is that I’m reducing a beautiful, complex human being, created in the image of God, to an argument to be won. I move in to change their opinion at any cost. In those moments, I’m not loving them with Jesus’ ever-patient, ever-present love. I’m pushing them around like a bully. I listen only to refute or to defend myself … I mean the gospel. The problem is the gospel doesn’t need defending. It breaks down every argument, every confusion, each time that it resurrects a soul, breathing new life into it. The new life in us is the best argument we have and, like a river, will flow out of us if given a channel.

The best channel is often a slow, steady example. Not perfection. Only Jesus has access to that. It’s a consistent pattern of seeking God, repenting when we get it wrong, and loving those around us. If we, if I, invested in those things with as much passion as I put into convincing someone that Jesus is the Savior, I think they’d see a much more powerful example of that Savior in action.

As they watch Him rescue me, reveal Himself to me, and change me, they’ll see the power and the hope of the Savior. They’ll feel the gospel: the power of God. Of course words are essential, but force-feeding them to someone will leave a bad taste in their mouth. In other words, a bad feeling.

If, on the other hand, we simply let the river of living water flow from a vibrant, inner spiritual life, I believe that they’ll taste that water and see that the Lord is good. Then, it’s up to them to choose whom they’ll follow.

Let the power of a changed, Jesus-saturated life do the arguing and save your breath for better things. A changed life is more convincing than even the best crafted debate rebuttal.

Changing our approach might even open the door for a new friendship, bringing the Jesus in us closer to the new friend next to us. Our goal, after all, is to make Jesus known, not to win an argument.

Take Aways

• Ask several people, believers and non-believers, how they experience you.

• Think of several words that describe the feeling the gospel leaves you with.

• Cultivate your inner-spiritual life alone and in community.

• Be bold with your life and with your words, but don’t argue!