Admirer or Follower?

I listened to a message awhile back that described the difference between being an admirer and a follower. Michael Phelps has a lot of admirers—people who follow his swimming career, root for him in the Olympics, buy his book that will inevitably appear in stores one day. But a follower of Michael Phelps—someone who wants to be just like Michael Phelps—gets up at 5 seven mornings a week to train in the pool. They spend more time in the pool than with their family and friends. They learn every detail of Phelps’s training routine and rigidly follow it. The gap between admiring and following, simply put, is commitment, and putting action behind that commitment.

Another word for “follower” is “disciple.” Francis Chan writes in Crazy Love, “The last thing Jesus told us was to go into the world and make disciples, teaching them to obey all He commanded. He didn’t add, ‘But hey, if that’s too much to ask, tell them just to become Christians—you know, the people who get to go to heaven without having to commit to anything.’”

I’ve been a “Christian” all my life (and the “born again” variety since I was 10), but it's taken me awhile to comprehend the depth of this whole “follower” thing. Following costs. It costs control, security, comfort—and other things I’m quite chummy with. Jesus says, “Pick up your cross and follow me.” I wish it were something more fun—like “Pick up your new Nike running shoes” or your “sweet silver convertible,” but it’s not. It’s a cross. In other words, it’s hard. But the longer I live, I see that control is highly overrated, security is an illusion, and comfort gets boring after awhile. Instead of being bummed about the hardship of wholehearted discipleship, I’m pretty stoked about the commitment of it.

When you’re following Jesus with complete commitment, the way He requires, your life becomes an object of little concern. (I’m paraphrasing author Dallas Willard there.) What a radical concept! My Big Important Life? An object of little concern? What a relief.

When I’m focused on God’s big picture and how I fit into it—instead of on all my little frustrations and concerns—moving through life feels, I imagine, like what it feels like for Michael Phelps to move through water. It’s what I was born to do.