From chapter four in The Feast (The Greatest Risk).

Lunch is the most spiritual part of my day. How could I get more spiritual than chips, salsa, and a prophet? On day, I was having lunch with a group, listening to Jeff, who was bringing up everything from preaching to politics, immigration, and evangelism. I just wanted good Mexican food, but I learned that with Jeff you get more than you bargained for.

At one point in the conversation, Jeff asked the group: “Did you know the ten largest churches in the world are not in the West? They are in places like China, South Korea, Peru, and West Africa. In the United States we are impressed if a church can cram a thousand people into a building on a Sunday morning. Some of these churches have tens of thousands meeting several times a week in homes, underground and above.”

Little did I know that the conversation was about to get more interesting.

After I sipped on some (okay, a lot of) Dr. Pepper, Jeff turned to me and said, “Imagine this scenario. A man walks into your office completely at the end of his rope. He’s hit rock bottom. His annual salary, before losing his job, was two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year. In a span of just thirty days, this man spent over one hundred thousand dollars on alcohol, gambling, and food. That’s one hundred thousand dollars . . . . His wife leaves him and takes their children. He’s lost his house, cars, everything. He now lives on the streets and in shelters in Philly sorting rags for twenty- five dollars a week. This guy walks into your office and tells you this information, asking for your help. How would you respond?”

I thought for a minute, cutting through all the weak answers I could offer. One person at the table chimed in, “I’d tell him to call someone who cares.”

I immediately felt something inside saying, “That’s not the best answer.”

So I attempted to craft a response to my prophetic peer. “I would ask him if he wants to stop drinking.” I come from a family where alcohol addiction is talked about openly. I know the first rule to addiction is that the addict has to desire change. “If he’s serious about changing, then I can help him.” I was quite satisfied with my answer.

The third person at the table declined to speculate. “I don’t even know what I’d say . . .” All the votes were in. I had a feeling Jeff was not impressed with his lunch company.

Jeff abruptly responded, “You are true Americans. I asked my friend from Africa, a pastor, what he would do, and he said he’d grab the man right then and there in the office and start praying that God would release his soul from the bondage and captivity that was oppressing him. I don’t care if he wanted me to or not. I’m a Christian and I believe in the power and authority of Jesus. Sure there’s room for psychology and practical treatment for addiction. First and foremost, Christians believe in the power of God.”
He continued, much to my dismay.

“So, the next time this guy came into my office, that’s what I did.”

Apparently this case study was a real situation! “I grabbed him and started praying for the Holy Spirit to invade his life and create transformation, real change.”

“What happened?”

“I grabbed the guy as hard as I could, hanging on to him, praying with passion and fervor.”

“Then what?” I was quite the reporter.

“He ran screaming into the night,” Jeff said with some amount of enthusiasm.

“Oh,” was all I could muster. In that moment, I thought to myself, “Is this how Christian counselors are trained these days?”

Jeff seemed to be aware of my inner monologue: “But you see, Josh . . . it’s not always about being successful. Oftentimes it’s about being faithful.”¹

Over guacamole and Dr. Pepper, Jeff taught me that risk and foolishness are essential in the life of following Jesus. All of a sudden, I felt like one of the disciples, reclining at a table with Jesus, trying to comprehend the word of God in my midst. Grace calls us to discipleship.

Discipleship requires risk.