Gospel Centered Discipleship

Jesus stepped down in love.He knelt down in obedience.He sat down in victory.Scripture tells this story in verbs—of a Son who came down (John 6:38), humbled himself (Phil. 2:8), and now is seated at the right hand of the Father (Heb. 1:3).We know how to celebrate the first two.We sing of the night heaven bent low, when glory wrapped itself in flesh and arrived crying and cold. We linger at the manger with candles and carols, marveling that the Son of God would step down into our world at all. Then we slow our pace again in Holy Week, following Jesus into the garden where he kneels in obedience, his will yielded to the Father’s. We sit with the weight of the cross—the cost of love, the obedience that carried him through suffering and death. The church gives words, space, and time to these moments. Rightly so.The manger drew him close. The cross pinned him down. The throne is where he now sits in victory.And yet this part of the story is the one we often rush past. Christmas fills our sanctuaries with song, and Holy Week slows us to a reverent hush. But after Easter, the church calendar grows strangely quiet. Ascension Day slips by almost unnoticed. Still, Scripture insists this is where we are meant to live—not craning our necks toward heaven but settling our lives under a King who has already taken his seat.When the resurrection appearances fade, and the forty days of teaching end, Jesus leads his disciples out once more. He lifts his hands in blessing. And then—quietly, without spectacle—he is lifted up. No trumpets. Just a cloud taking him from their sight, and a handful of followers left staring into the sky. Luke tells us that as they stood watching, angels interrupted their gaze, reminding them that the same Jesus who ascended would one day return (Acts 1:9–11).We confess it in the creed—he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father—but we rarely linger there, as if the Ascension were an addendum to Easter rather than its fulfillment.Yet Scripture insists on its significance. Jesus did not rise only to walk again among his friends. He rose to reign. He did not ascend to disappear, but to sit down. And his sitting down was not rest born of exhaustion—it was the posture of victory, authority, and completion.When Jesus sat down at the right hand of the Father, something decisive happened not only in heaven, but for us. When we lose sight of that throne, discipleship begins to feel heavier than it was ever meant to be.Maybe you, like me, have stood by the kitchen sink late at night, the house finally quiet, praying the same prayers you’ve prayed for years—over children, over aging parents, over a life that isn’t unfolding quite the way you imagined. I believe Christ is risen. But I confess there are times when I wonder whether my faithfulness is truly built on solid rock.Or maybe you are like a friend of ours—a father, brother, and uncle—sitting in his car in the church parking lot long after the service has ended, hands resting on the steering wheel, staring through the windshield. Not because he doubts what he heard, but because he is tired of trying to live it.This is the long middle of discipleship—the space where belief is steady, but energy is not; where obedience continues, but joy feels deferred.The Weary Disciple and the Gap We FeelMost Christians do not struggle because they doubt that Jesus lived, died, or rose again. The trouble comes later—after the truths are learned, after the habits are formed, after faith has settled into the long middle of life.This is where discipleship begins to feel like effort without lift. We keep showing up. We pray sometimes haltingly. We open Scripture even when it feels dry. We attempt obedience that looks ordinary and unseen—choosing patience, telling the truth, resisting cynicism, loving people who do not change quickly. And a quiet question begins to form beneath the surface of faithful lives: Is this really going anywhere?Our prayers rise. Our obedience stretches upward. And slowly—almost imperceptibly—we begin to wonder—not whether these practices matter, but whether anyone is actually seated there to receive them.The Ascension answers that quiet question with a picture the church has too often overlooked: a throne, and a King who has already taken his seat.The language of the Christian life subtly shifts. We speak more about discipline than delight, more about endurance than joy. We know the story of salvation well enough to affirm it, but not always well enough to draw strength from it. Part of the problem is not that we expect too much—but that we expect too little.When the Ascension fades from view, discipleship is reduced to imitation without participation. Jesus becomes our example more than our representative. His obedience becomes something we try to reproduce rather than something we are meant to live from. And so, the Christian life begins to feel like a strain—an effort to copy the life of Jesus rather than to draw life from him.The New Testament offers a different picture—one that depends not only on what Jesus has done for us, but on where he is now. Hebrews insists that Christ’s work did not end with sacrifice, or even with resurrection. It reached its climax when he sat down. After offering himself once for all, Christ took his seat at the right hand of God—not because the work ceased, but because it was finished. The posture matters. The priests in the temple never sat—only a priest who declares the work complete sits.Hebrews returns to this image with deliberate insistence: “After making purification for sins, he sat down” (Heb. 1:3). “When Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down” (Heb. 10:12). This is not theological ornamentation. It is given for weary believers—those who pray faithfully and still wonder whether their prayers have anywhere to land.The point is not simply that Jesus reigns in heaven, but that our lives are bound to someone who reigns for us. Our obedience unfolds beneath a finished work. Our weakness is carried into the presence of God by one who knows it from the inside.When discipleship feels stalled, the problem is often not a lack of faithfulness but a lack of perspective. We live as though the throne were empty. Scripture asserts otherwise. A seated Christ guarantees the future of the world, and his intercession upholds our lives in the present, in this very moment. We often remember the kneeling but forget the sitting.This does not remove the cost of obedience. It relocates its meaning. Obedience still costs, but it is no longer fragile or wasted because it unfolds beneath an occupied throne. We do not strive upward to reach heaven. We walk forward because Christ has already taken his seat.Seated at the Right Hand: King and PriestTo say that Jesus “sat down at the right hand of the Father” is to name a role, not merely a place. The right hand is the seat of authority—the place of one who acts with the ruler’s full power. Psalm 110 gives the church its language: a Lord invited to sit beside the LORD until every enemy is placed beneath his feet (v.1).Yet Hebrews adds something unexpected. The one who sits is not only King but Priest. Earthly kings sit because they rule; earthly priests stand because their work is never finished. Jesus alone sits as both King and Priest—because his sacrifice is complete.And yet his seated priesthood is not distant. Hebrews speaks of ongoing intercession—authority exercised in compassion. The one who reigns is the one who bears scars, not as evidence of defeat but as credentials of mercy.Here, kingship and priesthood converge. He reigns with the authority to rule, and he intercedes with the intimacy of shared humanity. His prayers are not appeals rising from uncertainty; they are the petitions of the Son, offered from the place of favor.For disciples, this reframes everything. If Christ were only King, obedience might feel like submission to power. If he were only  Priest, obedience might feel like gratitude without direction. But because he is both—seated, reigning, interceding—obedience becomes participation rather than performance. We are not trying to secure an undecided future. We are learning to live in alignment with a reign already established.Beneath an Occupied ThroneWhen the angels speak to the disciples in the opening chapter of Acts, they do not scold them for looking up; they redirect them. The risen Christ has not vanished into uncertainty. He has taken his place. And because he has, the disciples are free to return and wait—not in paralysis, but in hope.This is the posture the Ascension gives the church. Not escape from the world, but endurance within it. The Ascension does not remove the slow work of discipleship—it changes the air we breathe while we do it.When Christians grow weary, it is often because they imagine themselves alone on the road, responsible not only for faithfulness but for outcomes. The Ascension corrects that illusion. The one who walked the road before us now reigns ahead of us. History is not drifting toward uncertainty. The throne toward which it moves is already occupied—and occupied by one who bears scars.So, disciples, keep walking. Not because progress is always visible, but because the destination is secure. Not because obedience guarantees immediate fruit, but because it unfolds beneath a finished work.Our brother in the parking lot is not sitting beneath an indifferent sky. I don’t send my prayers into silence. Above us—above every ordinary act of obedience that feels unseen—there is a throne already occupied.Jesus stepped down in love.He knelt down in obedience.He sat down in victory.And because he sat down, we can stand—day after ordinary day—without fear that our faithfulness is wasted or our labor unseen. The Ascension does not remove us from the long middle of discipleship. It anchors us within it, giving us hope, assuring us that above every weary step there is a reigning Christ, and from his throne flows grace enough to carry us all the way home.

Don’t freak out. That’s what I wish someone had told me when I was a new Christian and was first realizing that every believer’s role in making disciples also meant I had a role in making disciples. It’s not like this was a big secret, of course. After all, Jesus commanded his followers to teach others to “observe all things” he had commanded (Matt. 28:20 NKJV)—to make disciples. But when it hit home, it just felt like a lot. I didn’t know where to start. And what could a new believer like me offer others anyway? I didn’t know the first thing about the end times or election. I couldn’t tell you the difference between Arminians and Armenians.Then it happened—a younger man asked me if I’d be willing to disciple him. Did I feel equipped or qualified? No. But I was willing to give it a shot. At that point, I was mostly familiar with Christians reading and discussing books together. So, that’s where I started. The problem was this guy wasn’t much of a reader. We tried talking through our progress in basic spiritual disciplines. That was a struggle too. We liked hanging out, and when we talked about Star Wars and pop music, conversation flowed easily. But the “discipleship” side of our relationship didn’t seem to be happening, at least as far as I could tell. I was frustrated, not with this younger man, but with myself. What was I doing wrong?Why Does Discipleship Feel Difficult?According to a 2022 study, 37 percent of American Christians don’t feel equipped or qualified to make disciples. Why? I suspect it’s because we’ve reduced our understanding of discipleship to structured education and obeying biblical commands. In the first case, making disciples becomes teaching a Bible study, seminar, or Sunday School class. These are all good things, and I’m thankful for all the resources that exist to support them. But if we haven’t shown aptitude for formal teaching, it’s natural that we feel unqualified or ill-equipped. In the second case, a caveat is required: Jesus does command us to teach people to obey his commands. Obedience to Christ isn’t optional. But we can focus on it to such a degree that if we struggle in any area of obedience—if we’re painfully aware of how prone our hearts are to wander—we consider ourselves unqualified to encourage others to pursue holy lives. Start With—and From—the HeartThis was my problem: I was looking at discipleship from the wrong perspective. It hadn’t yet clicked that discipleship is more than education and obedience to biblical commands. Discipleship is a matter of the heart. It is about helping others love Who and what we love; learning to delight in the God who delights in us (Zeph. 3:17) as we become like Jesus from one degree of glory to another (2 Cor. 3:18). We want to help people not just know about Jesus but to abide in him (John 15:4). We want them to be deeply connected to the One who is our life (Col. 3:4). To be satisfied with him as we would be with the finest of foods (Ps. 63:5). This means discipleship starts with the heart—specifically, ours as disciple makers. That’s one of the reasons I find Psalms so helpful. As much as the book of Psalms is about God, it is about our hearts. This book puts our hopes, fears, longings, anger, and joy on display in a deeply personal and profound way. It gives room for the unhinged mess that is us and invites us to bring that mess before the Lord. There are psalms that show us how to sing and pray with joy, hope, and confidence in the Lord, as in Psalms 9, 23, and 63. Some, like Psalm 51, demonstrate a contrite and repentant heart. Some even remind us that God can more than handle our unfiltered fury at the evils committed by humanity, as our hearts long for him to do justice (Ps. 35, 59, 69, 109, 137). But, perhaps counterintuitively, it is Psalm 37 that reminds me most powerfully where the delight of our hearts resides. Our Counterintuitive Foundation of DelightPsalm 37 may be an odd choice to turn to when talking about delight and discipleship. After all, this pastoral psalm offers wisdom to God’s people as they see “evildoers” and “workers of iniquity” (v. 1 NKJV), men and women who reject the ways of the Lord—who even practice outright evil—yet seem to prosper. There is no judgment. God appears to be silent. For those watching all this happen, it’s hard not to become anxious, concerned, and angry—to answer evil with evil, and fight fire with fire. To this, the psalmist says, “Do not fret” (vv. 1, 7, 8 NKJV), or, perhaps more literally, “Do not get heated.” In other words: “Don’t freak out.”Yes, the psalmist says, these workers of iniquity appear to be getting away with all manner of evil. And we still feel this today in so many ways. It’s hard to trust God when everything seems awful and the perpetrators of evil seem to face no consequences. But perception is not always reality. Instead, “Do not fret . . . Trust in the Lord, and do good” (v. 1,3 NKJV ). We must commit our way to him, and ourselves to his ways (v. 5). Rest in him (v. 7). Wait for him (v. 7, 9). Why? “For evildoers shall be cut off . . . For yet a little while and the wicked shall be no more; indeed, you will look carefully for his place, but it shall be no more” (vv. 9, 10 NKJV). We may not see what the Lord is doing, he says, but we can’t mistake that for inaction on his part. At the right time, he will act. And when he does, the workers of lawlessness will be no more. And as for the righteous? “But those who wait on the Lord, they shall inherit the earth . . . the meek shall inherit the earth, and shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace” (vv. 9, 11 NKJV; cf. Matt. 5:5). Delight, Discipleship, and Humility “Delight yourself also in the Lord, and he shall give you the desires of your heart” (Psalm 37:4 NKJV). To delight is to take pleasure, enjoy, or find satisfaction in someone or something. But to say we are to delight in God is not to wave away our fears and anxieties with a dismissive, “Don’t worry, be happy.” It is the Bible’s way of calling us back to who we are—of keeping us focused on the One we know can do something about those fears. It is building on Psalm 37’s ideas of trust, commitment, waiting, and rest. Delight is their culmination—of recognizing all the blessings we have in the Lord, not just in the sense of what he provides, but in giving himself. To be satisfied not in his stuff but in him. And this has the radical effect of humbling us. Of causing us to say with David, “What is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him?” (Psalm 8:4). It’s humbling. And that’s what we need as disciple makers. To be humbled because of how amazing God is to us. To marvel that God invites us to play any kind of role in another’s faith journey (John 4:35–38; 1 Cor. 3:6–8). And to acknowledge that, perhaps, our perceptions aren’t necessarily reality—that just because we can’t see what God is doing, it doesn’t mean he isn’t working through us. The Encouraging Word I NeededI wish I could say that once I realized this, it led to an instant and noticeable outward change in all the ways I’d been conditioned to think as a North American evangelical. But that is not actually how people work. Change takes time. Instead, here’s what it has done: It allowed me to be vulnerable in a way I didn’t know how to be before, for people to see the delight of my heart and open my heart to them. I wasn’t aware of this change in me until a dear friend spoke to me one Sunday after I had I finished preaching. He didn’t say anything about the content of the message. He said, “You know, your messages have always been good and true. But I really heard your heart in this. I felt like I was shepherded today.”What a kindness from the Lord to receive that encouragement. And this encouragement, and this focus, are what motivate me to keep going—to not lose heart when things don’t go the way I plan, when I’m tempted to play the comparison game, or to fall back into the rut. I can try all kinds of tactics and replicate what others are doing. But it’s delight—my love for God—that really makes a difference. I pray it will be for you as well.You’re More Qualified than You ThinkHere’s the truth: Starting with delight doesn’t remove our doubts and fears about discipleship. We’re still going to struggle with feeling unqualified or ill-equipped. Our hearts are fickle and letting people see our hearts is risky. But this is what we are called to. We want to help others love Who and what we love—to delight in the God who delights in us. And to do that, we need to let others see our love for him. To see how we delight in who he says he is and how he is at work. To see us wrestle with questions and doubts and sit with us in our sorrows. Discipleship is a matter of the heart. Start there. Trust in God. Delight in the Lord. He will give you the desires of your heart. He will use you to make disciples in ways you don’t expect and might never see.Don’t freak out. You are more qualified than you think. 

I was terrified. In an evening service, the small church I attended as a child with my family had shown a movie about Rome’s persecution of first-century Christians. Even if the filmmakers had presented the cruelties “tastefully,” my seven-year-old heart and mind weren’t ready for them. I can still envision Christians hiding from soldiers in back street shadows and soon-to-be martyrs peering through prison-cell windows. The sound of the raucous arena in the distance was chilling. At least to my little ears.  In the years that followed, I often asked myself, “Am I willing to die for Jesus?” Never certain of my answer, I would push the question aside. But when I was pregnant with our first son, it resurfaced. A mass shooting at Columbine High School dominated the nightly news, and reporters spoke of a student who lost her life when a gunman asked, “Do you believe in God?” She answered, “Yes,” and he shot her.If I had been there, how would I have answered in that moment?Are We Ready?Every faithful Christian will suffer for the sake of Christ. In God’s providence, we won’t all experience the same type, extent, or intensity of persecution for our loyalty to Jesus. The Church in the West has known a unique period of general comfort and safety, but we’re naïve to think it will always be this way. With shifts in social and political landscapes, Christ followers are experiencing more opposition and loss in the family, workplace, and public square. Today’s Christian, who holds to the gospel and the word of God, can anticipate hardship for Christ’s name and honor. It will come. And it will increase.The question is, are we ready for it?To prepare ourselves to suffer well for Christ’s sake in a moment of significant crisis, we must learn to suffer well in these days of relative ease. What we will need to do then, we need to practice now. In 1 Peter 4:12-19, the apostle Peter shows us the way.Expect to Suffer for ChristBy the time Peter writes his first epistle, he’s learned to expect suffering as a follower of Christ. But that hasn’t always been Peter’s perspective. Years earlier, when Jesus foretold his own death, Peter rebuked him. When the Romans arrested Jesus, Peter drew his sword to defend him. When Jesus stood trial, Peter tried to protect himself by denying him. After one look from the afflicted Savior, Peter’s self-righteousness and self-preservation crumbled. He’s now come to understand that suffering unjustly is part of Jesus’ plan, and he can’t expect better treatment than his Lord received.With this understanding Peter writes, “Do not be surprised at the fiery trial when it comes upon you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you” (1 Pet. 4:12).  There’s nothing remarkable about us suffering for Christ’s sake. The prophets who hoped in Jesus and the disciples who walked with him were mocked, tortured, and murdered. Christians throughout history have endured untold “fiery trials” from false accusations to physical atrocities. To prepare ourselves for the crosses we’ll bear, we must remind ourselves that we’re not immune from such things. As it was for the believers who have gone before us, and as it will be for us, and as it will be for those who follow—suffering for Christ is a burden to be expected and shared.Rejoice to Identify with ChristSuffering well for Christ doesn’t require us to delight in our actual mistreatment. But it does involve rejoicing in identifying with our Savior and his sufferings. Peter encourages us, “But rejoice insofar as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed. If you are insulted for the name of Christ, you are blessed, because the Spirit of glory and of God rests upon you” (1 Pet. 4:13-14).Christ’s undeserved death fully paid for our sin and secured our place in heaven. Yet when we identify with him by suffering for his name, we multiply our future joy—our celebration—at his return. As great as our momentary losses will have been, our eternal gains will be all the greater! Until then, as we encounter hardship for our Savior, we can give him thanks and praise knowing that it reveals he’s set his Spirit upon us. Even now, when anticipating suffering yet to come, we must resolve to be devoted to Christ and to be known by his name. Faithfulness to Jesus in the days ahead is built upon rejoicing in him today.Conduct Yourselves Like ChristEarly in his epistle, Peter calls us to be holy because God is holy. He then applies that call to persecution: “Let none of you suffer as a murderer or a thief or an evildoer or as a meddler. Yet if anyone suffers as a Christian, let him not be ashamed, but let him glorify God in that name” (1 Pet. 4:15-16). Jesus suffered for doing what was right. He always honored the Father’s will, and he completely fulfilled the law of God. All that Jesus did was holy, and he was hated for it. If we’re to be hated, may it be for imitating his holiness.We must never equate the suffering that results from sin with the suffering endured for serving Christ. Any hardship encountered because of our ungodliness cannot be attributed to following Jesus. But if we suffer because of Christlike faith and obedience, we can praise God for the privilege to represent our Lord. To be prepared for such suffering, we must practice Christlike conduct daily, without compromise.Entrust Yourselves to God in Christ          Peter’s final words in 1 Peter 4 summarize his previous exhortations: “Let those who suffer according to God's will entrust their souls to a faithful Creator while doing good” (1 Pet. 4:19). Entrusting our eternal well-being to our Creator is at the heart of suffering well for Christ. And who’s the faithful Creator we commit ourselves to? He’s the same one our Savior entrusted himself to in his own suffering (1 Pet. 2:23).Peter could refer to God here in any number of ways, but he chooses “Creator” with all its implications. Whether our suffering for Jesus is small or significant, with this title the apostle comforts us with a reminder that we’re known, seen, and loved by our Father. He emboldens us with the knowledge that we—and those who oppose us—are under his sovereign rule. And he encourages us with the assurance that he is our help to the end.