Let me tell you a story about what happened on vacation a few years back. We used to take my wife’s little sister, LuciAnn, on vacation with us when she was in high school. She was great company and cheap babysitting. One year we took her to San Diego for a week and almost killed her.
Luci wanted to try scuba diving. There was this little place in La Jolla that advertised scuba lessons and diving, all in one afternoon. It was pure southern California: the proprietor was a Vietnam veteran with pictures of his past life everywhere. Tie-dye had not gone out of style in his shop. He had a three-inch shark’s tooth on display; he claimed he had pulled it out of his head after the shark bit him! One Thursday afternoon Luci and I joined one other student for a scuba class. The shop was a mile from the ocean, and after suiting up we headed to his hippie-era van for a drive to the sea. I expected we would make our way to a marina but instead he drove to a public beach and said, “don’t put your fins on yet. It makes it hard to walk on the sand.” Turns out that was the only lesson we got.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Aren’t you going to spend any time training us?” I had been scuba diving two or three times in other locations, and each time we had spent an hour going over equipment, and had even trained briefly in a swimming pool. But that was me. I knew this was Luci’s first effort.
“Oh, yeah.” he said. “I’ll cover that stuff at the beach.”
Sunbathers and swimmers at the beach stopped and stared (children pointed) as our instructor and three students marched to the water in full wet-suit armor. We sat on the firm sand and the waves ran up our legs us as we put on our fins.
“Here’s what you need to do,” he offered. “Stay close to me.” He pointed to me and said, “You’ve been down before, right? You take the other guy, and I’ll take the girl.” Instruction-time had ended. Diving time began. The four of us waded out chest-deep into the Pacific in full gear: we had weighted belts to help us stay under water.
“Put on your masks,” said the boss. Luci had never worn a mask before.
“No! Not like that! Spit in it!”
“It’s doesn’t fit,” Luci offered.
“Didn’t you size it back at the shop?” he demanded. The water was up to Luci’s neck, chest-deep for the rest of us. He fiddled with the mask. “There. That oughta do it. Put it on. Let’s get going.”
We swam out about fifty yards when Luci pulled up. “My mask is full of water.”
“Give me that!” he barked. The four of us were treading water, with diving weights around our waist. Luci went under for a moment. I pulled her up. The instructor adjusted the mask one more time. Luci choked out a mouthful of seawater.
“You’re going to have to try harder,” he told Luci. “You could get in serious trouble here.” No foolin’! Luci was near tears as this time the instructor stretched the mask over her head. Of course, he did it perfectly, and it fit. “Tell you what,” he said, "just hold my hand the rest of the way.”
I gained a lot of respect for my young sister-in-law that day. I would have panicked: she was out in the ocean in water above her head, with no training at all, fighting to stay above water. All the instructor could offer was “You’re going to have to try harder.” Luci didn’t panic, and she managed to stay in control enough to enjoy the rest of the dive. 45 minutes later the beach-goers watched as we emerged from beneath the sea and waddled back up to the hippie van.
Luci learned how to scuba dive that day. I learned that there is a world of difference between trying and training.
Becoming a follower of Jesus requires training. Jesus said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." (Matthew 11: 28 – 30) His promise of rest is realized as we learn from him.
Too many believers have encountered the hippie-scuba-instructor model of following Jesus: “You’re going to have to try harder.” Someone told them that following Jesus results in rest and peace; no one trained them to hear the voice of God, or how to take the yoke Jesus offers. In fact, too many believers are unaware that Christian maturity even requires training. But it’s true: “Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil.” (Hebrews 5: 13 -14)
If we are serious about using the phrase, “born again,” we must realize that infants need others to provide care until they can care for themselves. Ultimately it is Jesus himself who trains us as disciples. He is the master teacher, but most of us need someone to train us how to hear his voice and how to follow the leading of the Holy Spirit.
Who has trained you? Who are you training?