The Soil of Discipleship
A close friend of mine made a statement that has lingered in my mind for the past week. He said, “I’m still waiting on someone to disciple me.” My friend isn’t a new believer; in fact, he’s the opposite. He’s one of the pastors I go to for counsel. He’s a man I trust and admire as I watch him invest his life in preparing ministers for the work of the gospel.
As is so often the case in large organizations, discipleship can easily become a buzzword. We hear about discipleship strategies, discipleship pathways, discipleship groups, discipleship courses, and discipleship packets. We know better than to think discipleship happens only when people complete a program.
More Than a Program
When Jesus called the Twelve, He didn’t hand them a curriculum. The disciples walked together and shared meals together. They were present to observe how Jesus responded to interruptions, opposition, grief, and joy. That’s the same pattern of discipleship that has sustained churches to this day.
This kind of ministry is both the pattern for discipleship and a safeguard against the pull of celebrity influencers. It is impossible to separate a person’s doctrine from the way that person lives. Discipleship was never meant to be limited to the transfer of information. It is the sharing of a life shaped by Christ.
“Discipleship was never meant to be limited to the transfer of information. It is the sharing of a life shaped by Christ.”
The Soil Matters
So, instead of asking, “How do we start a discipleship ministry?” perhaps the question we should ask is, “What kind of church naturally grows disciples?”
Disciples grow where God’s Word is treasured, where prayer is practiced, where older believers welcome younger believers into their lives, where questions are welcomed, where faithfulness is modeled, and where ordinary obedience is celebrated. Those things are not flashy. They won’t make the next conference headline. But that is the rich soil from which mature Christians grow.
The Ordinary Work of Faithfulness
To be fair to my friend, he was almost certainly referring to the absence of a formal discipleship process in his own life rather than a lack of discipleship. But his comment reveals something larger. We have become so accustomed to equating discipleship with organized programs that we sometimes fail to recognize the countless ways God has been discipling His people all along.
There’s a real warning. Some never realize there is more to know of God. Others become convinced they already know enough. Churches stagnate whenever believers become convinced they have arrived.
But many of us have been discipled without ever calling it that.
The man who took you fishing and quietly taught you patience, responsibility, and integrity may have discipled you. The church member who invited you to help a widow move and then prayed with her in the living room before leaving may have discipled you. The older couple who welcomed your family into their home and let you observe a Christ-centered marriage may have discipled you.
Without a workbook or a title, those moments of ordinary life can still help form faithful disciples.
Looking Around Us
When we consider the Great Commission, we must both receive discipleship and pass it on. We should ask, “Who is helping me follow Christ more faithfully?” and “Who am I helping follow Christ more faithfully?”
While neither question requires an official program, they both require intentionality.
I think that’s the greatest obstacle to discipleship today—a culturally shaped reluctance to open our lives to one another. If I could change the world by handing out information, I’d do it. Information is easy to distribute. Life is harder to share.
For churches to be filled with mature Christians, we must stop looking for better methods and begin cultivating better soil. Programs may assist the work, but they will never replace the slow, ordinary, beautiful work of believers walking together toward Christ.
Originally published by the Baptist Trumpet as part of the “Green Pastors Seeking Greener Pastures” column.