Following Jesus.

Gotta story for you. It’s from the Book of Acts chapter 12. And it’s all about the wacky world of being a disciple. I love this story because it’s so human and so God. It’s so raw and real because it’s what life as a disciple is really like. No fake plastic halos. No holier…

Jesus came to serve the world. Not just churches. Not just church people. He came to serve the world in all of its messiness and brokenness. Disciples are part of Jesus’ continuing mission to the world. Matthew puts it this way, at the end of his Gospel where he recounts what Jesus says to his…

So, you want to be a disciple. You want to put your faith in action. No couch potato, sub par spiritual zombie existence for you. You’re ready to train your spiritual muscles, grow strong roots, crush the weeds, and take a stand against the schemes of the devil. You want to know Jesus, really know…

Faith, the size of a tiny mustard seed is all that’s needed to start down the road with Jesus. But following Jesus is neither easy nor is it popular. Truth is, it’s counter-cultural. Because Jesus is the ultimate disciple-maker, I’m going to get us going by using a story, a parable, that Jesus used to…

So, remember how I said in the last podcast that Jesus wants you to follow him more than you could ever want. And that all you need is faith the size of a tiny mustard seed for Jesus to take you by the hand and get you started down the road? Well, three things. One,…

“Who do you say I am?” Jesus asks. Everybody’s personal story connects to God’s Story with that question. How will you answer? A myth? And if not a myth, than the “Fabio” Jesus? The “Burn in Hell” Jesus? The “Everything’s Cool” Jesus? The “Churchy” Jesus? Or the “Real” Jesus? Will you answer the question like…

So, you want to follow Jesus. Great! Which one? First, there’s the popular and ubiquitous “Fabio” Jesus—the supermodel Jesus who walks around like he’s floating on air. Rippling blond hair cascading to his shoulders, blue eyes aglow with an inner holy light, muted halo floating above his perfect head—barely brushing that fabulous hair—he stands aloof…