Bonus Content for The Jesus Climb: Journeying from Student to Disciple

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Introduction: Hacking Everest

Dis•ci•ple (di – si´ – pehl) n. A student who continues on the upward/downward journey of following Jesus, his teachings, and his way of life—both the ascent of a higher and higher commitment to loving God and neighbor with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength, and the descent into a deeper and deeper experience of the intimate, transforming, and other-centered love of God—because they believe and have come to know him as Teacher, Messiah, Son of God, and Redeemer of the world. 

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“People may spend their whole lives climbing the ladder of success only to find, once they reach the top, that the ladder is leaning against the wrong wall.”

― Thomas Merton

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The Pit and the Pick

The red-rubber playground ball soars through a windswept sky along the precise trajectory Hunter Jamieson intended.

As the fourth-grade “god” of recess kickball, Hunter knows how to spot the weakest link in any lineup chosen by rival captains—and today’s lineups are exceptionally slim.

Mrs. Mast denying recess to fourth graders who failed their multiplication quiz, means rosters full of third graders. Now, Hunter’s rival captain is trying to hide a particularly scrawny third grader deep in right field. Like a prehistoric shark smelling fear at great distance, Hunter launches his first kick directly at this pathetic third grader.

That is, directly at me!

The Pick

For months, my every recess began with a trip to “the Pit”—the lower ball fields where the real men of the third and fourth grades played kickball. But as a new-to-Pennsylvania third grader with a weird Seattle accent, I left the Pit each day “unpicked.” Dropping my head as the last player rejoices in their inclusion on the last spot on the last team, I endured the daily ego-crushing walk-of-shame back to the hopscotch crowd on the upper playground.

Until today! Today, I am chosen. Today, I am on the field. Today, I am full of unspeakable joy.

What I don’t realize is that today, I am Hunter’s target.

Every eye in the Pit fixates on me as I frantically backpedal, desperately seeking to prevent Hunter’s titanic shot from going over my head. But like that nightmare where you get your feet stuck in peanut butter, I simply cannot move fast enough. Tripping over my own sneakers, I land with a crash on my rear end. Stunned, I watch my life pass before my eyes—a heartbreaking cinema of shame and ridicule in slow motion—as the red playground ball soars toward my sprawling form.

I mean, directly at my sprawling form. Coming to my senses in the nick of time, I lift my knee to defend my face from the utter embarrassment of a direct hit.

The ball strikes my knee, careens ten feet in the air, and falls directly onto my chest, where I “catch” it.

Slowly rising to my feet, I watch as a reverent awe sweeps the crowd who just witnessed a genuine kickball miracle.

Hunter, having already rounded first base, slowly comes to a stop less than thirty feet from where I stand. Throwing his hands towards the heavens, he screams at the top of his lungs, “That was the greatest catch I have ever seen in my entire life.”

The Pit erupts in celebration! My teammates cheer. The third-grade boys watching from their walk of shame cheer. Even Hunter’s teammates cheer.

From that day on, I never feared the walk of shame again. Hunter Jameson picked me every single day. And here’s the weird thing: he never learned my name. He just called me “Catch.”

The Strategy

“If you want to be happy, you have to be successful.”

That’s the lesson Hunter Jameson taught me that day. Soon, it’s my unofficial life motto. It perfectly fits my family system. I don’t recall my father ever saying, “I love you,” but he would say, “I’m proud of you!” I live for those moments. I don’t care if his praise comes from a sporting event, a test, or just giving my all. I organize my life around finding something, anything, that might cause him to see me.¹

My life strategy serves me well at first. Not only does it lead to occasionally connecting with my dad, it guides my other relationships as well. I quickly learn to discern what my authority figures value most and then strive to embody those values. In the classroom, I read! In sports, I hustle! I rarely achieve the best marks in my classes, but I am nearly always the teacher’s pet. I never become the best player on any team, but I am nearly always a coach’s favorite. Even if I don’t always win or even play, I can still earn their “I’m proud of you.”

The Problem

Success among my friends presents greater challenge. I quickly surmise that I will never become the best at anything among my peers. They are much too talented. So, I strive to be the second best at everything: four sports, three musical groups, student government, art major, music major, and an honor student. I dream of my classmates one day voting me “Best All Around” in our yearbook. And I have a shot—if I can keep performing.

Which is, of course, a significant problem. The more I accomplish, the more pressure I feel to accomplish more. The more people expect success from me, the harder I have to work to garner their “I’m proud of you.” One day, it hits me that I may be approaching a ceiling in my competitive opportunities for success. I will never be more “accomplished” among my peers than in high school—not unless I figure out a way to play in the NBA, the NFL, and MLB, while serving as a U.S. Senator and a college professor. If success is supposed to make me happy, then why am I more anxious now than when I was the new kid no one would pick for kickball?

So, I start searching—I mean really searching—for someone, anyone who can show me a way out of the mess I’ve gotten myself into. I look into Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, and just about anything that ends with “ism,” but no one seems to have the answers I need.   

Holly Bibble

Now, you probably need to know that my family isn’t particularly “religious.” Sure, we say grace before dinner and attend church occasionally, but that’s about it.

My father proudly leaves his Bible on a table by our front door. “That way, I know where to find it when we leave for church,” he boasts—but opening it between Sundays? That would be fanaticism.

His approach leaves a bit of a gap in my religious education. In the second grade, I visit the home of my neighbor, David. During a rousing game of Twister, I notice my Dad’s entry table book sitting on David’s family’s bookshelf.

Seeking to show off my burgeoning reading skills, I spin the dial, put my right hand on a red dot, and boast, “I’m going to read that book someday.”

David spins, then strains to put his left foot on a blue dot. Arching a brow, he finally asks, “What book?”

My spin has me reaching for a yellow dot with my right foot. “The one about the girl,” I respond nonchalantly.

Almost losing his balance (and the game), David screws up his face, looks directly at me, and asks, “What girl?”

This is the moment I’ve been waiting for: “Holly Bibble,” I reply proudly.

David crinkles his forehead as he follows my gaze to the bookshelf and snorts, “That’s the Holy Bible,’ stupid!”

I had no idea.

The Question

This lack of religious discernment likely led me to accept an invitation to a performance of the musical Jesus Christ Superstar while I was in the throes of my search for meaning.

I entered the building looking for nothing more than an evening’s entertainment. What I didn’t realize was that Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice’s often-irreverent take on the life of Jesus wrestled with many of the same questions I am struggling with.

Something shifts inside me as the house lights drop and electric guitars begin their staccato introduction.

Within moments, I am completely captivated! But it’s not the music and lyrics. It’s the person of Jesus! Why have I never considered him before?

Maybe it’s the air conditioning, but I find myself trembling in my seat. Maybe Jesus has answers to my questions about the meaning and purpose of my miserable life. I yearn for an opportunity to learn from Jesus so badly that I find myself wiping away tears.

If you’ve ever seen Superstar, you know it ends with Judas (not Jesus) rising from the dead (I told you it was irreverent) to sing the famous title song: “Jesus Christ, Superstar. Do you think you’re who they say you are?”

It is the best question I have ever heard!

I need to find the answer.

Back to the Bibble

That night, I steal the “Holly Bibble” book from its hallway perch and start reading the first-hand accounts of Jesus’ life, known as the Gospels, for the first time.^[ii]  They are even better than the musical.

People who grow up reading the Bible often find it challenging to separate their magical childhood views of Jesus from a more adult perspective. Their understanding of Jesus usually gets lumped together with the stories of Disney princesses and Marvel superheroes. Not me. With few presuppositions to unlearn, I take the words written by Jesus’ first students at face value. I see him for what he was to his first followers: a Teacher.

And what a teacher! His “lectures” on finding true happiness by serving others shatter my self-centered presuppositions. His “labs” demonstrating the healing power of God over hunger, disease, poverty, injustice, and even death fill me with the hope that maybe God cares about the mess this world is in. Jesus’ vision of a loving “kingdom of heaven” breaking into this dark world ignites my imagination with an alternative story far superior to the hopeless one I’m living. His unconditional love for broken people (like me) begins to wash away the foundation of conditional love upon which my entire “success equals happiness” worldview.

For months, I rush home daily to read Jesus’s teachings until my eyes are red and bleary. I quickly plow through all four Gospels and deep into the rest of the New Testament. I spend hours writing Jesus’ words in my journal and thinking about how I can put them into practice. I even bought poster board and plastered the walls of my room with Jesus’ sayings. My Mom is getting worried.

Changeling

Before long, my entire life becomes one long internal conversation with Jesus about how to follow him and his words more closely. I slowly change from being completely self-centered to being slightly less self-centered. I start listening to people before just blurting out my opinion. I begin seeking out hurting people and even try (sometimes successfully) to encourage them. I gradually stop categorizing everyone I meet into three categories: 1) the competition I must beat, 2) the audience I want to impress, and 3) the losers I try to avoid.

Sometimes, Jesus’ words stop me dead in my tracks. Like the day I blow past that weird band kid on the bus like he’s a second-class citizen. Is even calling him ‘weird’ in my head judging him? Probably.

So, I reverse course and ask him, “Is this seat taken?”

Shocked, he clears his trombone case from the seat beside him and nods for me to sit down. It’s awkward at first, but I quickly discover that he’s pretty cool and loves Sci-Fi as much as I do. He doesn’t become my best friend, but he becomes my bus friend, which can be almost as important. As I get off the bus one day, I can almost “hear” Jesus saying, “See, the kingdom of God’s love can grow from the smallest acts of kindness?”

I wish I could tell you every day was like that. My old behavior resurfaces regularly, yet when it does, I sense Jesus’ forgiveness, not judgment. I finally found someone who wants me on his team, even when I blow it—someone who knows me by name. Jesus seems to love me, not how well I perform.

Along the way, something strange happens—I fall madly in love with Jesus. I don’t know how else to put it. I am not just obeying him. I enjoy his “company.” People say that if you talk to God, you’re religious, but if God talks to you, you’re crazy. If that’s true, then I am either having a psychotic break, or I have somehow stumbled into following Jesus in way that feels an awful lot like his first disciples.  

Which is, of course, precisely what gets me into trouble.

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Discussion Questions

1. Did you have any experiences growing up that shaped your life in a significant way?

2. Did you ever try a life strategy that didn’t work out well for you?

3. How does the quote from Thomas Merton at the top of the post apply to Gary’s story? Yours?

4. What first got you interested in following Jesus? (If anything.)

5. What (if anything) interests you about following Jesus now?

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Read The Jesus Climb: Journeying from Student to Disciple

Gary David Stratton, Ph.D., seeks to foster spiritual exploration through intellectual inquiry, experiential spirituality, beloved community, and other-centered service. He and his wife, Dr. Sue Stratton, teach at Johnson University in Knoxville, TN, where they are known for their deep love for students and those who lead and teach them.

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Notes

1. I do not wish to unfairly paint my parents as terrible people. They were not. They are great providers who remain devoted to one another and to their children and grandchildren for over fifty years. They were, however, terribly damaged people. My father, the adult child of two alcoholics, grew up covered with a thick layer of shame that soon filled our family life as well. He is little more than a workaholic ghost, retreating into golf matches or building projects whenever he isn’t at work. Years later, he will tearfully express how much he regrets ignoring us as children. Yet at the time having a ghost dad was just ‘normal’ for me and my three siblings. To cover for dad’s limitations, our enabler mom forbade us from ever expressing anything even resembling a negative emotion. Our unofficial family motto became, “Keep busy and keep up appearances.” Everything’s fine. You’ll get over it. What will the neighbors think? Stop bleeding on the carpet! Not surprisingly, neither of my parents learned to hold an intimate conversation until much later in life. ↩︎