Have you ever noticed the way Jesus chose his disciples? From our vantage point, it appears haphazard. Jesus walked along, saw a guy fishing, and said, “Hey! You! Come with me, and I’ll unfold the greatest mysteries of the universe.”

When we dig deeper into the cultural context, we realize his nonchalance could be even more dire. The twelve he chose had already received rejection letters from the rabbis under whom they wished to study. They failed to meet the requirements. Rejected by the religious-cultural-social upper crust of life as a rabbi, they instead settled for the trades of their fathers, collecting taxes and fishing the Dead Sea.

He chose twelve denied applicants. He prayed about them for a night (Luke 6:12-13) and then he said, “You are the ones I want. You will carry my message to the world, and you will change the world.”
 

During Jesus' life and teaching, one group refused to listen. They were those who believed they already had all the answers. They were the religious elite. They had no time for Jesus because they already solved life's mysteries and refused to ask further questions.
   
On the other hand, the social outcasts, the tax collectors, followers of other religions, the adulterers, the drinkers, the poor, the crippled, children – these people understood. They could hear Jesus’ teaching because they knew they didn’t have answers tucked neatly into their back pockets. Whether their lack of knowledge, their lack of acceptance by the world, or their bodily failings, something led them to acknowledge a deficiency in themselves. They recognized the space he said he could fill.
   
For those who deny that such a space exists, Jesus'' words deflected unheard. For those of us who deny this still, Jesus finds no audience, as he appears irrelevant and extraneous.

On a recent fall night, I went to a concert. A singer-songwriter played whose music remains on a regular rotation in my four-disc changer. And though his work is not overtly “sacred,” leaning much more “secular,” I shared with a friend my suspicions about this musician’s knowledge of Jesus.

My friend's look said, “Do you know anything at all? Have you heard his songs about booze and women and drugs? Do you know what Jesus said?” I just smiled. The exchange brought me back to Jesus’ words in Matthew 5:22.

Why did he say, “Anyone who says, 'You fool!' will be in danger of the fire of hell”? The commentators on this text always appeared to dodge something, something I couldn’t quite grasp but sensed was present. Jesus’ words here cut a deep line in the dirt. Certainly he’s not just speaking against anger here, as scholars argue. He’s talking about hell.

I played on a team that had much talent but was thwarted by little coaching and even less heart. One of the team’s self-appointed leaders often complained about the coach.

“He’s never played football. How can he teach us anything? I won’t try to teach someone the violin if I’ve never played it. He’s supposed to teach us about this game?”

His analysis, though logically flawed, held some truth. The teacher must first have knowledge to effectively impart it. A great coach need not have played the game, but he must possess a thorough understanding to teach those who play.

Jesus said, “Make disciples of all the nations.” He said we should pass his teachings to all the world. This admonition presupposes that we’ve learned it first. That presupposition, though fundamental to instruction, often gets brushed aside in the race to teach others. We forget to teach ourselves. Continually.

“Remember the Titans” contains a scene that elicits laughs while illustrating a point.

 

Herman Boone is the newly hired black football coach at T.C. Williams High in Alexandria, Virginia, during the racially tense seventies. Before he takes his new and epidermally varied team to camp before the season, he has a small exchange with his All-American linebacker, Gary.

“Once you step on that bus you ain’t got your mama no more. You got your brothers on the team and you got your daddy. Gary, if you want to play on this football team, you answer me when I ask you, who is your daddy? Who's your daddy, Gary?”

“That’s a trap!” he said. “That’s a sneaky, manipulative trap.”

Arguing with my buddy on an issue of “morality,” I’d caught him in a logical fallacyand pulled the trump move, the figurative checkmate.  He was forced to choose between two options he detested.

In a sense he was right. I definitely think logic has lost its place in our debates, and we should lament its passing. But am I going to venerate logic to the detriment of a friendship with my buddy? I have no doubt that he’d respond more to the latter than the former. Do I care more about him or about proving a point? I can care for him and about the point without needing to hit him over the head with it.

I hate sermons about the Great Commission. I cringe, and something inside me rejects the harsh guilt trip that pastors incite. “Go into all the world and preach the Gospel …” They present this like a new idea or an old one that they just discovered. 

How could it be?!  Here we live, performing our important church duties and now, oops! we forgot to go into all the world to fulfill this command. We hear the sermon, and our minds start constructing a to-do list. Does a short-term missions trip suffice? What about my stint in the inner city? Could I schedule a visit to orphans in Zimbabwe next summer?

No one sees a feuding couple and says, “I want a marriage like that!” No one thinks, “I can’t wait to have a distant and dead relationship where we live on opposite ends of the house and rarely speak.” The same holds true for groups of people who treat one another coldly. It’s just not a pretty sight.

People do see couples who love each other deeply and well and say, “I want what they have.”

People see organizations where individuals are valued, celebrated, and say, “I want to work there.” This happens inherently. When people come together to love one another, others are drawn to them.

Jesus gave the disciples a grand commissioning. Long discussions and numerous conferences focus on Matthew 28:19-20. We could discuss this at length and analyze the various aspects, but let’s look at one element of the commission.

Who are the disciples? If I am one, or want to be a student of this Jewish teacher, how do I become one?

Perhaps we might say that following Jesus consists of a couple of key elements. Some will say this is too reductive, and others will say this is too complicated, and others will say I’ve missed nothing but the main point. Nevertheless …