My daughter just recently had an assignment at school where students were required to give a “TED Talk.” The focus was deliberately vague—speak on something for which you are a bit of an expert (by 8th-grade standards, of course), some experience that had a profound impact on your life, or perhaps something you just find meaningful. The topics reflected the kinds of conversations that normally happen in the halls of a middle school:
"Why Baseball is the Greatest."
"The Value of Studying Math."
"Cafeteria Lunch Choices are Horrible."
Some were rather surprising. One classmate spoke about his grandpa’s military service. Another questioned the morality of plastic grocery bags. Yet another spoke deeply about his Christian faith.
My daughter equally wanted to address something faith-based, but with a particular focus: her Papa’s experience with dementia. Since moving back to Ohio, she's had a front row seat to my dad’s very rapid cognitive decline. This has certainly affected her, watching him go from that strong, confident sage who is just silly enough to make a toddler laugh to being a functional toddler himself.
But it is not the surprisingly rapid decline of dementia that impacted her life. The focus of her TED Talk was on how she has watched her Nana deal with her husband’s dementia with a surprising strength and resilience that comes from beyond herself.
Her talk is titled, “When Struggles Bring Strength.”
She reflected on how the experience has strengthened her Nana’s faith, forcing her to rely on a God she trusts rather than on her own wisdom to get through the day. In her own words, what stands out is that her Nana’s faith in God was tested but came out of the fire stronger than it went in; hardships revealing strength and resilience within us that we never knew we possessed, allowing us to learn the true meaning of faith and courage.
I admit, I’m incredibly impressed at how my daughter was able to articulate that. She has learned some wonderful lessons, not in a classroom, but by observing and sharing life.
Isn’t that what true discipleship is?
Protestant Christianity seems to have a renewed emphasis on discipleship lately, and the trend is to work toward developing systems that aim at fulfilling Jesus’ “Great Commission” to go and make disciples. How are we doing on that? Not great! So we need to double down our efforts and begin to take the Great Commission seriously:
Present new discipleship classes that focus on spiritual formation.
Develop better curriculum that will teach the Fruit of the Spirit.
Enroll new believers in one-on-one mentoring relationships.
I’ve heard a popular celebrity preacher (Honestly, how do I get that gig?) suggest that “You haven’t made a disciple until your disciple has made a disciple!” That is an awful lot of pressure to lay upon someone doing their best to live as faithfully as possible. Not to mention, that expectation is given nowhere in Scripture.
I don’t want to be misunderstood as if I’m saying the classes, curriculum, or one-on-one mentoring relationships have no value or aren’t “discipleship”. They have great value, and they certainly fall underneath the broader umbrella of “discipleship.” I just fear discipleship being reduced to those “systems” and then assuming they accurately gauge how well we are or aren’t fulfilling the Great Commission.
My mom never approached my daughter with an invitation to join her in a one-on-one mentoring relationship. She never led her through a curriculum or a class on “How to Faithfully Navigate Dementia With Your Spouse.” And if discipleship requires that, someone like my mom will always be kept at arms-length from fulfilling the Great Commission (and then subsequently led to feel unnecessarily guilty for failing at doing discipleship).
Yet, this 8th-Grade TED Talk proves the Great Commission is being fulfilled. My daughter is being discipled by her Nana. Not formally, not in a “system” that somehow “works.” But by sharing life together. By being in the same room together. By eating pizza with her Nana and Papa on a random Thursday night. By watching her Nana gently lead her Papa to a pew every Sunday morning, and not having to fake that everything is okay but relying on the quiet strength of a Savior who refuses to let dementia have the final word.
She is discipled by simply watching.
Even my dad is not kept at arms’ length from fulfilling the Great Commission. What we as a family are learning from my dad about the faithfulness of God, about being God's image in the world, care for the “least of these,” what it means to love God even if you don’t remember his name…. We are all being discipled by my dad, not in spite of dementia but precisely because of it. Because he embodies in his person not only cognitive decline, but a humanity that is not lost even if mental capacity is.
We are discipled by simply watching.
After all, “watching” is that small overlooked bit of the Great Commission. It is part of the means by which disciples are “made.” At the risk of getting a bit nerdy, the Greek in Matthew 28:19 opens with the dual, “Go and disciple!”—two aspects of the same single act. The follow-up question Jesus anticipates is, “And how, exactly, do you expect us to do that?” Two ensuing participles give the answer.
First, by baptizing into the name of the Father, Son, and Spirit. Jesus is not here simply introducing a liturgical formula for a sacramental rite. “Baptizing” here emphasizes complete participation in the fullness of God, the formal entry point for relationship and fellowship.
But the second means by which disciples are made is by “teaching them to observe all I have commanded you.” “Observe” can obviously carry the meaning of “Obey.” But you can’t really force obedience. What you can do is put your own life on display for others to see—so that they may “Observe.” Teach them to watch your life.
My daughter is not discipled by her Nana taking her aside for mentoring or academic training. My mom has simply been faithful to what Jesus has commanded of her while my daughter observes.
She watched.
She saw a life of faithfulness on display. She learned lessons about resilience in the face of suffering without any curriculum having to be shared, without any words having to be spoken.
Again, don’t hear me saying the discipleship “systems” we develop are a waste of time. They are helpful tools. But they are only tools, and sometimes they are tools that keep people at arms’ length and subtly suggest “discipleship isn’t for you.” The spouse of a dementia patient will rarely, if ever, be in a position where they can formally mentor a novice or teach a class. But nothing teaches better than a life well-lived—on display for everyone to observe, even amid adversity—in the classroom of shared life.
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