The Real Gospel

Walking down the city street, the man with the microphone assured me that it was not too late to find eternal life. In fact, he said I could have it today if I would only repeat certain words after him. From then on, he added, my life would be one of abundance, peace and tranquility.

“What on earth is he talking about?” I asked myself. To choose a life of faith takes much more then prescribed words, and, for me anyway, the life it leads to is far from easy. In fact, it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever tried.

No wonder people try to water it down or bend it to accommodate their lives. Everywhere I look I see and hear a “gospel” that has nothing to do with the one I’ve to come to understand by reading scripture. Designed to make pews more comfortable and behaviors more acceptable, the other “gospel” is all fine and good until a person reads what Jesus actually said.

My experience is that following Christ calls into question most of what I do and challenges most of what I think. No longer can I live a self-centered life because he said it’s all about others. No longer can I feel content with the abundance of my life because he said I am to care about those who are not as blessed as I. No longer can I trust my way of seeing things because I have a plank in my eye, a self-centered plank that keeps me from seeing all the ways I fall short of being who God created me to be. (Judging others is so much easier than judging oneself.)

My brother was an accomplished wrestler in high school and college. I remember watching him bounce around and swing his arms on the side as he waited for the match. When he entered the ring, however, he crouched down, stuck out his arms, and gave it all he had. There were twists and turns, lifts and falls, and I was never sure who was going to win. The life of faith has been like that for me. It’s all fine and good when I am bouncing around and swinging my arms thinking (and writing) about such a life, and another once I enter the ring. Then, it’s a struggle, one with twists and turns, lifts and falls, just when I think I’m “winning” I fall flat on my face.

In this morning’s scripture, John describes many people coming to hear Jesus and walking away. I didn’t remember this passage, but I understood why they walked away. Discipleship is hard. Rather than stick around and say one thing and do another, they turned and admitted such a life was not for them. The cost of discipleship, as Diedrich Bonhoeffer called it, was too high. How refreshing it is to read about people who see the difficulty of living lives of faith as opposed to those who preach on the corner, stand in the voting booth, or walk in front of cameras promising a compromised version of the gospel.

Yes, discipleship is hard, maybe the hardest thing there is. If I am not wrestling with it daily, chances are I’ve watered it down or selectively edited it to suit my own fears which I disguise with greed, prejudices, and judgement.

If the gospel wasn’t hard, I don’t think it would be real.

If it didn’t challenge my human thoughts and actions, it wouldn’t be divine.

If it didn’t involve death of some sort, it couldn’t offer new life.