Hazardous Discipleship

Ed Cyzewski and Derek Cooper have written a very helpful book about discipleship.  Hazardous: Committing to the Cost of Following Jesus could almost be considered an introduction to discipleship, though the authors push beyond the introductory to describe a way of living that is as compelling as it is risky.  Ed was kind enough to answer a few questions about the book.  Leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of Hazardous.

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Throughout the book you make the case that discipleship to Jesus is risky and unpredictable. What is it about much of American Christianity that requires this reminder?

Speaking for myself, I’ve gone back and forth between doing the bare minimum as a disciple of Jesus and feeling guilty about not doing enough. I’ve had my times when I’ve reduced discipleship to the bare minimum of Bible reading and church attendance. However, when I hear about Christians making huge sacrifices to serve the poor or to travel around the world, I feel guilty and overwhelmed, unsure about where to start.

I wrote Hazardous as much for myself as anyone else because I knew there were a lot of American Christians who had been told the same things I’d heard: Jesus as your Lord and Savior makes life meaningful, peaceful, joyful, etc. Joy and peace do come from a Savior, but a Lord who can direct your life can ask you to do some pretty tough stuff or make some huge sacrifices. Hazardous is my attempt to look at the risky and difficult parts of following Jesus that American Christians are less likely to consider.

In the book you point out that discipleship involves our personal, family, and public lives. By public you especially have in mind work and vocation. Of the three, our public lives often seem the most incongruous to discipleship, requiring a lot of pragmatic decisions that may or may not align with our discipleship to Jesus. What have you seen that makes you hopeful that we can live robust public lives of discipleship, especially for the majority of Christians who don’t serve in vocational ministry?

The story of Zaccheus has proven hopeful for me as I try to think about following Jesus in my work. We don’t read about him making a profession of faith. He changed his work practices, redirected his money to those he’d exploited, and then invited Jesus over for dinner. That’s what prompted Jesus to say salvation had come to his home. Zaccheus didn’t necessarily leave his job. He changed his priorities, using his work to bless others rather than to exploit them, showing he understood that God’s approval mattered more than financial gain. And even the Roman soldiers who came to Jesus or John the Baptist didn’t have to turn in their swords.

Living as a disciple in the work place in particular means we follow different rules than everyone else, but we can still do the jobs we feel led to pursue. In my own work as a writer and an author, I have every confidence that I’m doing what God has called me to do, but I don’t operate my business like others who may overcharge clients, pay for fake reviews on Amazon, or hire ghost writers to pen endorsements for their books. I’ve seen many friends make “costly” business decisions in order to serve their families, churches, or communities. They have made decisions that made no sense to their colleagues, but have ensured a clear conscience before God and neighbor–which is one of the key measures I see Paul using in his epistles for faithfulness.

You don’t spend much time on the church. Any particular reason for this? What role does the church play in discipleship?

Author Ed Cyzewski

That’s a good question. In part, the church is implied. For instance, when I write about listening for God in prayer, one of the most important steps is verifying the direction of God with others. If someone can pray with me, then I’ll feel better about taking a risk or a challenge for God. That isn’t something that you can program into a church. It’s more of a relational dynamic in Christian community, so I think we just assumed that Christians living as disciples would work within personal relationships.

There certainly are ways that a church can foster a discipleship culture and create opportunities and guidance for following Jesus, but that’s an area where we don’t have expertise about what would work and what wouldn’t. My current church has been working hard at integrating service to others as part of our monthly rhythm, and that has been a good challenge for us as a community, but even that approach is only a few years old. We’ll see how it goes!

You strike a really helpful balance in portraying discipleship as both a risky way of living and completely possible at whatever location we find ourselves in. How might the reputation of American Christians change if more of us lived into this balanced vision of discipleship?

American Christians are probably most criticized for being highly individualistic and focused on themselves. I would argue this comes from having Jesus as a Savoir but not as a Lord who leads his followers to costly discipleship. As we learn to hear God’s voice, care about the things he cares about, and see the world through his eyes, we’ll start to be moved to care for the people around us. In addition, I would suggest that we’ll also see our language of “personal fulfillment” change as we derive our joy from blessing others and building God’s Kingdom rather than trying to write our own self-serving stories of personal fulfillment.

I have also found that listening for God’s voice and obeying his leading has made it significantly easier to live a holy life. When I’m stepping into God’s calling for my life, I need him involved in it from start to finish. You better believe I pray a lot more when I’m taking a leap of faith! Paul’s comparison of discipleship to a soldier’s focus is helpful here. If following my “commanding officer’s” instructions are most important, I won’t have time to get into trouble.

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My thanks to Ed for answering my questions.  Be sure to leave a comment for a chance to win a copy of the book.

Dangerous Calling

My review of Dangerous Calling by Paul David Trip in the January print edition of Christianity Today has now been posted on their website.

There is a disheartening rite of passage every young pastor faces. And though it was almost 10 years ago, I remember my own moment clearly. “Have you heard?” asked my senior pastor when I arrived at the church office that morning. I hadn’t. So he proceeded to tell me about the well-known pastor whose moral failure had made the morning headlines. I remember two things about that moment: my pastor’s grief and my inability to focus the remainder of the day. Though neither of us had met the man or been greatly influenced by his ministry, this pastor’s public shame still felt deeply personal.

“Have you heard?” As the years have passed I’ve come to dread that question, yet it—and the sad stories behind it—is frustratingly common. The hushed conversations between pastors at these moments reflect an unsettling worry: that in our discredited colleagues, we see possible reflections of ourselves. We too have known temptation. We too inhabit a church culture that can seem to hinder our own discipleship by elevating ministry production over spiritual fruit.

Read the rest on the Christianity Today site.

The Downside of Digital Immortality

Last month John Wilson, editor of Books and Culture, lamented a loss of books via his Twitter account: “Went to garage to get a book from a box of African American history and lit. Mildew. Aggh. Aggggh.” Aggh is right! We book lovers know the sinking feeling that accompanies such a discovery, be it mildew, a child’s busy hands, or – all too common – the lent book that never returns.  John’s tweet, and the sympathetic condolences it elicited, got me thinking about the risks inherent to our attachment to things, especially books of the physical variety.

A few of the books in our living room.

I continue to have little interest in e-readers for a bunch of reasons, including a couple I’ve written about before.  But doesn’t John’s experience with the garage mildew make a good case for digital books? As I understand it, these texts are saved in “the cloud” so that, should your reading device succumb to the elements, your books are never in danger of being lost.  The e-book is immortal, always available to its owner.  It cannot be lost.

This appears to be a great improvement over the decay and loss-prone cover and paper variety of book.  But I wonder.  Doesn’t the lament over the lost book say something about its goodness as a physical thing? Such a loss would surely be experienced differently if it took place in the digital world.  I imagine being frustrated with the technology but unconcerned about my ability to find the book.  And let’s assume for a minute that an e-book could actually be lost, dissolved into the digital ether.  I have to believe the loss would still be experienced differently than a well-loved, dog-eared copy of a favorite book that has long sat on the study shelf or even in a box in the garage.  The physical book has memory attached to itself, whether in the form of hastily appropriated bookmarks, notes scrawled in the margins, or the simple power of an object to recall forgotten thoughts, conversations, and emotions.  Assuming an e-book could actually be lost, that loss would be an inconvenience and little more.

And so I’m left to accept that some objects are valuable enough to risk their loss and the accompanying sadness. The promise of permanence made by the digital text ends up eliminating much of what many of us look to our books for.

My 5 Favorite Books of 2012

During the year I collect a list of the books I read and then, in a completely unscientific process, choose the five I most highly recommend to you.  This year I read 27 books – a pittance compared to some of your lists, but still enough to make choosing five a small challenge.  Previous years’ lists can be found here: 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, and 2011.  What about you?  What books did you read in 2012 that you can recommend to us?

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The Warmth of Other Suns, Isabel Wilkerson (2011).

I don’t read enough fiction – and this book is historical non-fiction – but the The Warmth of Other Suns was the narrative I most enjoyed this year.  Wilkerson is masterful at taking the bits of history to tell a story that is so important to the demographic and cultural texture of America today.  Important, yes- but the history told in these pages is regularly overlooked.  By showcasing three individuals who made the trip north or west from the Jim Crow South, Wilkerson brings into focus the massive migration of African Americans that has shaped the country we know today.  Our church is situated in a neighborhood with deep ties to the stories in this book so I found it especially interesting. (One of the three characters the author follows is Ida Mae Brandon Gladney who moves from Mississippi to the South Side of Chicago.)  Ultimately though, The Warmth of Other Suns is an American story, one told exceedingly well by Wilkerson.

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The Meaning of the City, Jaques Ellul (1970).

Jacques Ellul has been a footnote author for me over the past decade: an author who is regularly cited in appreciated books. Regularly enough that at some point the footnote must be traced back to the original source.  Ellul was a French sociologist, philosopher, and professor of law who is known for his writings on technology, among many other topics.  He was also a Christian whose theological work – in my cursory observation – is either seen as increasingly relevant in our technological age or anachronistic.  I lean toward the former.  In this book Ellul gives us his Biblical reading of the city: its origins, symbolism, role in redemptive history, and location for Christian witness today.  Some see Ellul as a pessimist whose view of the city leaves no room for positive change or reform.  I suppose there is some truth to this but I read him differently.  The vision found in The Meaning of the City is one that allows Christians to bear witness to Christ regardless of perceived reform.  For the growing number of young, Evangelical-ish Christians who see the city as the place to change the world (for God), Ellul provides a necessary corrective.  We witness to Christ in the city because of God’s love for the city and we continue to do so whether or not things turn out as we hope because, ultimately, we are simply called to bear witness.  The One with the power to change operates outside our time and plans and one day His heavenly city will replace all that continues to plague the residents of earthly cities.

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Desiring the Kingdom, James K. A. Smith (2009).

I recommended this book more than any other this year.  Desiring the Kingdom is the first book of a planned three-part series and the second book is the only book I’ve ever pre-ordered.  James K. A. Smith is a professor of philosophy and theology at Calvin College and, as the book reveals, an astute observer of American cultural practices and artifacts.  The book opens with a description of a typical American mall from the perspective of an alien who believes this massive edifice and those coming and going from its doors must form some sort of religious center.  Smith shows how humans are primarily desiring beings.  We do what we love rather than what we think or even believe.  Others have made this point and Smith’s important contribution is in showing how these desires are formed within us.  Liturgy is an important concept in this formation and the author shows the cultural liturgies that compete with those observed by congregations.  These are liturgies with radically different ends, liturgies that aim to form distinct desires among their practitioners.  For a long time I’ve thought about the occasional dissonance between a congregation’s spoken theology and the accepted practices (liturgies) that hinder the implementation of this theology and Smith has given me additional tools to think carefully about this unfortunate tendency.  There are questions I have after reading this book – Is a congregation’s liturgy limited to a worship service? – that I hope Smith will address in the next two books.  But those questions are mostly evidence of just how convincing I find Smith’s thesis and how helpful.

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Life Itself, Roger Ebert (2011).

I read a few different memoirs this year and Roger Ebert’s was by far the most enjoyable.  I remember watching Siskel and Ebert’s movie reviews during high school- I didn’t watch very many movie’s then but was still fascinated by these two witty critics who made a living… watching movies?  (Check out this great oral history  about that unlikely show.)  In more recent years I’ve begun to appreciate the world of film more and Ebert has been one of the writers who has pointed me to the many great options beyond the megaplex.  Life Itself is worth reading for so many reasons: Ebert’s descriptions of journalism in a bygone era; his reflections on religion as an atheist married to a Christian woman he adores; the many, many stories of the women and men who make movies, each told without a trace of the cynicism or celebrity worship we’ve come to expect from such stories.  But what makes this book truly fantastic – why I’ll read it again – is Ebert’s writing.  These pages contain more than interesting remembrances of a more than interesting life.  It’s the words and sentences Ebert selects and crafts that make this book  a page-turner even to those who care little for the films with which the author will forever be identified.

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The New Jim Crow, Michelle Alexander (2010).

I said more about this book on the blog than any other this year. My friend Richard and I blogged our way through the book and it was gratifying to hear of others who were reading along.  Briefly, author Michelle Alexander makes evident the hard-to-grasp and harder-to-believe systems, policies, and narratives that have led to the mass incarceration (and huge racial disparities) that has become common in America.  The statistics Alexander provides will make you angry- and that’s the point to some extent.  The America beloved by so many and the one experienced by those portrayed in The New Jim Crow are two different Americas.  What will it take for those who’ve been privileged to know the supposed best of this country to see through that privilege to the appalling injustice on the other side?  Alexander’s book has been that catalyst for many already and, I hope, for many more.

We Sinners

I’ve been a pastor for about a decade and there have been plenty of surprises along the way- aspects of my job I hadn’t associated with the pastorate.  Most of these I’m now accustomed too but one continues to catch me off guard: pastoring those who are leaving the Faith.  Having grown up in a believing family I’ve known for most of my life that people leave Christianity though I imagined these departures taking place quietly and quickly.  We spoke of those who had “fallen away” from belief as one disappears over a cliff.  In fact, as I continue to learn, leaving one’s faith is less of a fall than it is a slow, laborious trek during which the destination is rarely visible or certain.

Hanna Pylväinen’s debut novel, We Sinners, captures what I imagine to be the experience of so many leavers (and returners).  Borrowing heavily from her own experience growing up in a large family that belonged to a fundamentalist sect of Finnish Lutheranism, Pylväinen repeatedly finds the right sentence to describe the crises of faith inherent to religious households.  The story advances over eleven chapters, each told in the voice of a different family member.  While the theology and experience of Rovaniemi family differs wildly from my own, the author still managed to evoke great sympathy and memory through this family of believers and doubters.

The corner of Christianity I inhabit can seem obsessed with leavers.  We track statistics and know pollsters by name.  Books are written to tell us what it all means and we try to envision a future where more people identify their religion as “none.”  What this entire industry misses – and what Pylväinen gets – is that discussing the goings and comings of faith with data and demography is neither interesting nor especially helpful.  It is the stories that matter, the unfolding narratives of people who claim and are claimed by their belief, unbelief, and oftentimes both simultaneously.  We Sinners beautifully and painfully reveals the pulse behind much lifeless so-called analysis.

Most readers will not directly relate to the large family or isolationist tendencies of the Rovaniemi’s church.  But the resonance is there, felt through the characters’ doubts and hopes, their moments of shame and forgiveness.  In this way Pylväinen’s novel is for believers and doubters, the leavers and those who remain.  Most impressively, it’s a story that eschews the obtuse categories of religious pollsters and acknowledges the more complicated and interesting experiences of real people whose faith – or lack thereof -  cannot be so easily categorized.

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I received a review copy of this book from the publisher.