The life of discipleship begins not with doing but with being. We are to be with Jesus.
I love the description we find in the Gospel of Mark. When Jesus chose the disciples, it wasn’t first to preach the gospel and cast out demons but simply to “be with him” (Mark 3:14). Proximity comes before power.
We see the same truth in the Gospel of John, when the disciples follow and “stay with” Jesus (John 1:35–39). That language of staying, of remaining, of being with Jesus soars to new heights when Jesus tells the disciples, “Abide in me” and “Abide in my love” (15:4, 10).
Being with Jesus Means Being with Others
One way to interpret this idea of “being with Jesus” sounds lofty and mystical, as if the point is to sit quietly in God’s presence, soaking in the stillness. Or as if spending time with Jesus means reading the Bible and praying, primarily as individuals. Not for a moment would I want to minimize these practices. They’re integral to the life of discipleship, of living into the reality that our identity is determined by our relationship to Christ.
But this is only one side of what it means. To be with Jesus isn’t a solitary life of devotion to the Lord. To be with Jesus will require us to keep company with the people Jesus keeps company with.
Remember, Jesus called the disciples not just as individuals but into a new family. He put Simon the Zealot in the same group as Matthew the tax collector. He dined in the home of Simon the Pharisee but also took heat for sharing a table with sinners. Jesus’s ministry was marked by being around people who were sick, or diseased, or excluded. He spent time with the religiously scrupulous and the sexually immoral. Abiding in Jesus means we’ll keep company with a motley assortment of people, with prodigals and elder brothers alike.
When Mary of Bethany poured out expensive oil on his feet, Jesus defended her extravagant display when his disciples complained that the funds could have been put to better use in social ministry. “You always have the poor with you,” he told them (Matt. 26:11). Some have used that phrase to minimize ministry to those less fortunate, when instead, Jesus’s comment presupposes proximity to those in need. The poor will be with you. The disciples had walked with Jesus for three years, so raising this question indicated how clearly their hearts were shaped toward mercy ministries.
Gospel Awkward
A church planting pastor in Maryland, Richard Pope calls this kind of environment “gospel awkward.” Pope’s story is inspiring—a harrowing past, a beautiful story of redemption and calling, and now a terminal cancer diagnosis—and has been told in both written form and in a multiepisode podcast.
One of the marks of Pope’s ministry is how beautifully messy it is. Sarah Zylstra describes his church:
When Canvas first launched, it attracted people who were broken—desperately poor, addicted, or abused. Their stories weren’t so different from Pope’s. When he talked about what he’d been through or what he longed for, they could relate . . .
“My church has people who would never sit together at dinner,” Pope said. “If I quote a politician or a president, I know I’m going to tick off half the room. I have a church of Republicans and Democrats, and radically poor, and people who make six figures. I have a church where you might hear the F-bomb dropped in the lobby, and you might have a mom who homeschools her kids.” He describes it as “gospel awkward.”
I love that phrase. I yearn for more churches that know the beautifully awkward tension of being both a hospital for sinners and a school for saints. What we find in the words of Jesus and the apostles is a rigorous commitment to the otherworldly ethic of the kingdom combined with a wide-open door that welcomes in all who fall short of the standard. The school of sanctification is now in session . . . and the field hospital is receiving the wounded. “Gospel awkward” is one of the best phrases I’ve seen that captures the beauty of that combination.
Beauty in the Mess
Not long ago, I was speaking at a vibrant and growing church, filled with people from across generations, all at various places in the journey of discipleship. I met one of the older men who was new to the congregation, and the pastor told me later, “He’s a mess.” He said it without even a tinge of moral superiority or judgment. He wasn’t saying, He’s a mess and so he doesn’t belong here, but the opposite: He’s wrecked his life, he’s found Jesus, and he’s making progress, so this is exactly where he belongs.
I loved the mix of pastoral patience—a heart of unconditional acceptance no matter the present state combined with an aspirational vision for who the man could become.
We need more churches like this. We need more conversations that are awkward because God has brought together into one family people from different backgrounds, with different struggles, from different economic situations, and with different expectations. Those further along in the journey of sanctification need this gospel awkwardness just as much as people new to the faith.
Supernatural Community
We usually try to minimize discomfort, disagreement, debate, and personal tension. We hate feeling awkward. That’s natural. That’s why gospel awkwardness is so necessary: it’s supernatural.
When the world sees unity persisting through the awkwardness of it all, open acknowledgment of our messiness on the road to holiness, a dogged determination to live with and love people and make decisions with people unlike us in so many ways . . . that’s what testifies to the power of the gospel.
“Gospel awkward” should be the norm, not the exception.
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