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Many Christians today have forgotten the very purpose why we are called to be Christians. Maybe you've seen this happen: you became a Christian, you loved Jesus, you were so passionate about serving Him. You wanted to do anything you could for Him. But after time, you started to serve in church, give, maybe go on a mission trip, pray, read the Bible—doing all these things. But what if all these things are not the purpose why you're called to be a Christian in the first place?
I want to talk today about remembering our purpose, because for me it's a personal story. I think I was one of those Christians who forgot the purpose for being a Christian.
Turn with me to Matthew 4:18-22. It talks about the calling of the first disciples, and it's a very instructive passage for us as Christians when we think about what our calling is—what Jesus is calling us into.
As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. "Come, follow me," Jesus said, "and I will send you out to fish for people." At once they left their nets and followed him. And going on from there, he saw two other brothers, James, son of Zebedee, and his brother John. They were in a boat with their father Zebedee preparing their nets. And Jesus called them and immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him.
When we read this story, it's quite dramatic. These are men carrying out the work of their career—catching fish, cleaning nets. This is what they were born to do; you get the sense their grandparents did this, their father was with them doing it, and they were planning to pass it on to their own children. This was family business, and they believed they'd be doing it for all their lives.
Then this stranger walks in and says, "Follow me." Without a second thought, they leave everything and follow him. Who does that? It's like somebody walking into your office today and saying "Follow me," and boom, you're gone. It doesn't make sense—at least not in our context.
But when you understand the Jewish context this story was told in, it wasn't a strange thing at all. Everybody who first heard this story understood exactly what it meant.
In Jewish culture, young boys would start school at a place of education called the Bet Sefer ("house of the book"). Until about age ten or eleven, their role was to memorize the first five books of the Old Testament—Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. By ten years old, a Jewish boy had memorized all five books. That challenges how we think about children, doesn't it?
Most young people would then go back into their parents' business and be apprenticed into the family trade. But some exceptional students moved to the next level, the Bet Midrash ("house of study"), where they studied the rest of the Old Testament—the writings and the prophets—until they understood the entirety of Scripture. At about fifteen, these students would retire into their parents' business as leaders in the community.
But a few extremely exceptional students moved on to interview with a rabbi, hoping to be called as disciples. Different rabbis had different interpretations of Scripture and different ways of seeing life. A student would sit for a rigorous interview based on years of learning—tradition tells us a rabbi might give a random verse and ask the student to recite the verse directly before it, testing their knowledge and interpretation of Scripture.
When the teacher was suitably impressed, he would say, "Follow me." And when he said those words, the student wouldn't go back home—from that moment on, he became a follower of that rabbi, walking with him, imitating him. The saying was, "Let the dust of your rabbi fall upon you"—you'd walk so closely behind him that his dust would fall on you, and you would become like him: interpreting Scripture like him, praying like him. The ideal was to become so close to your rabbi that if he died, it was as if he hadn't died at all, because you would continue exactly as he had lived.
When the rabbi felt a disciple had learned everything he needed to learn, he would commission him and say, "I've taught you everything I know. Now go and make your own disciples."
Here's the striking variation in our story: Jesus did not look for the most elite students. He went and found ordinary young men catching fish—people so unremarkable that later, in Acts 4, when they preached, what people noticed most about them was that these men are uneducated. And these are the men Jesus chose. He didn't even wait for them to interview him—He went and picked them.
You did not choose me, but I chose you and I appointed you to go and bear fruit. (John 15)
These boys completely understood what an honor it was to be asked by a rabbi to follow him—the biggest honor a Jewish boy at that age could receive. This is why they stopped everything, and why their father didn't oppose their leaving.
In Jewish culture, being a disciple wasn't about sitting in a classroom or doing a Bible study. It was about following your rabbi so closely you would become like him—eating what he ate, living as he lived.
Does this all sound familiar? Because this is exactly what Jesus does with His disciples. They follow Him, walk with Him, live with Him. They go to His family wedding in John 2, where He turns water into wine—you don't ask a random stranger about the wine running out; you ask family. He goes into their homes; He heals Peter's mother-in-law in her own bedroom. This is close life—eating together, loving each other, doing everything together.
After three years of this intense shared life, Jesus calls them together:
All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age. (Matthew 28)
In other words: it's your turn. He didn't say, "Go to Bible school" or "go be nice Christians." He said, "Go and make disciples."
Making disciples is not a church program. It's not a leadership track. It's not for the super spiritual. It is the core business of every disciple of Jesus Christ. The core business of every follower of Jesus is to make disciples who make disciples.
Jesus explains what this means in two parts:
Isn't it strange that for many Christians, this isn't what we were taught is the core business of being a Christian? I thought being a Christian meant praying the prayer, going to church, serving on a team, giving money, maybe going on a mission trip, serving in ministry, even getting into leadership, being a good person—and waiting for Jesus to come get us out of this broken world.
But I wasn't taught that those things, good as they are, are not the main thing. They are inputs to the main thing. Think of a farmer: fertilizer is an input. You've never met a farmer who brags about how much fertilizer he has on his farm—what you want to know is what fruit does your farm have?
It's great that you pray, that you go to church, that you serve. But the question is: what's your fruit? Your fruit is who you are discipling. What disciples does your life have? What are the results of your following Jesus? Who else is like you because you're following Jesus?
I had the privilege, by God's grace, of writing the Mizizi curriculum that became Rooted many years ago, and I've seen it used across the church and translated into many languages. But in recent years my prayer has been that this curriculum would not be known merely as a great curriculum many people enjoyed—that would be a terrible legacy. My prayer is that it would be known as a tool that raised disciples who made disciples. Otherwise it becomes the tail that wags the dog—it makes the church forget its purpose. Curriculums don't make disciples. People make disciples. Disciples make disciples.
Some of us feel, I'm not ready. I don't know enough. I'm still struggling with my own issues. But that's why I love how Jesus did it—He didn't pick the most gifted elite students from the temple; He picked ordinary, messed-up people from the marketplace. He did that to show us that anyone can do this. Even a child can do this.
My wife and I have partnered with a church experiencing revival, where 16- and 13-year-olds are making disciples in their high schools. I remember one girl who told us, "I have 1,352 disciples." She had a little book showing the ten people she's discipling, and who they're discipling, four generations down—a thousand people, and she knew their names. Sixteen years old. I came back thinking, what have I been doing my whole life?
Sometimes when we find something simple, because we're clever, we assume it must be simplistic, so we complicate it. But Jesus's method is genius—simple, but not simplistic. This is why within 300 years, the group Jesus told to make disciples of nations saw the whole Roman Empire become Christian. About 10% of the empire—some three to six million people—were believers, until the Roman emperor himself became a Christian for political reasons, because he understood this was how you gained power in that world.
If an empire like Rome could become Christian because of a few ordinary people doing this simple thing, then this is the most powerful thing we could do as Christians. If we want to see our nations changed, if we want an end to poverty, corruption, exploitation, and injustice, if we want a world that looks like the kingdom of heaven come down to earth—the simplest thing we can do, though not simplistic, is: make disciples who make disciples.
Lynn. Lynn is Scottish, a very successful lawyer in London who went through a messy divorce and needed to get as far from London as possible. She ended up in Nairobi, still far from God, but was drawn by the love of a Mavuno church community. She gave her life to Jesus, joined a small group, went through Rooted, and was discipled by a pastor—then began discipling others herself, starting several groups in the city.
When God broke her heart seeing cocaine addicts transformed, she said, "If God can do this here, He can do it back home." She asked to be sent back to start a Mavuno-style church in her own city. She sold her property, moved to Edinburgh, got a lawyer's job but deliberately didn't get a car so she could ride public transportation and talk with strangers. She became what she called a "prayer supplier"—finding people who looked depressed or sad and asking, "How can I pray for you?" She connected with all kinds of people, some homeless, collecting numbers and praying for them. A few weeks ago she sent a text sharing her own story of brokenness and invited people into an experience that changed her life. Several signed up, and two weeks ago she started the first Rooted group in Edinburgh, Scotland.
Matrid. Matrid is an award-winning filmmaker who has traveled to Hollywood and won student awards. On one film project in a remote rural area, funded by Hollywood money, she included a "prayer crew" in the budget—people to counsel and pray for the film crew. About six people from her local Mavuno church served in that role. While filming, they spent time with extras from the village and shared the gospel; several came to Christ. When the movie ended, one volunteer asked to stay behind and start a discipleship group. Today, out of that one film, there are two thriving Mavuno churches in the western part of Kenya.
Ishmael and Carol. Both are high-level, C-suite executives—Carol travels the world for work, from Geneva to Guatemala. Near where they live, a group of young men loved rugby. Ishmael and Carol began offering pizza and inviting them over just to talk (free pizza and students—it works everywhere). The group gathered, went through Mizizi and Rooted, and began discipling other people. Today there are six churches in five different towns that grew out of that rugby group, which Ishmael and Carol still oversee alongside their full-time jobs.
None of these three—Lynn, Matrid, or Ishmael and Carol—is a theologian. None went to Bible school. None ever considered themselves a pastor. What they realized is that the core business of every Christian is to make disciples. And when disciples multiply, you end up shepherding people. The pastor is not a title—it's a role. It's a parenting role that comes from loving God's people. Every single child of God is called to shepherd people. This is our calling. The core business of every Christian is to make disciples who make disciples.
God has called this church to amazing things—planted in the capital of the world, with the opportunity now to own a building right in the Capitol. But my prayer is that the building will never become the church. The church is God's people. God is calling us to use that tool to make disciples who make disciples.
Many of you are here only for a season—this is a transient city—but my prayer is that in that time you will be equipped, so that wherever you go from this place, you will be a disciple who makes disciples.
Father, I thank you for every person in this house who has heard this word. Remind us to go back to the forgotten ways, to remember the big purpose you've called us to. None of us was called to live for a small thing—making money is a small thing, having a successful career is a tiny thing. Those are just inputs. Everything you've given us is a gift to help us make disciples who make disciples. Position us in our workplaces, our careers, our schools, that every place we go would become an outpost of the kingdom of heaven. Let college students and high school students in this house become disciplers in their schools. Let us see a revival in this area because of the people of this church. Let no one here live a small, selfish life, but the kind of life that changes eternity for many people—the kind of life that makes disciples who make disciples.
If you're here and you've never given your life to Jesus, maybe today is the day. You're not called merely to live a successful life by the world's standards—the one who called you is here. Giving your life to Jesus is not a spiritual transaction; it's an all-of-life transaction. God created you for a purpose, and you'll never know your purpose until you know the Purpose Giver.
