The View from the West Mesa

Perhaps one of the most unsettling realizations for disciples is that being a disciple does not require much of the trappings we have come to associate with being a disciple. Structure and objective, concrete rules provide psychological safety and their stripping away causes confusion and anxiety. And so we cling to them and assign them value and gravity for their own sake, crafting intricate explanations for their existence and the critical places they fill in our personal and common lives. We come to believe that these are constituent parts of being a disciple and so perpetuate their existence and necessity, defending them against detractors of all sorts. If we could let go of them without going crazy, we could see and live the true simplicity of being a disciple. We could learn and experience life as a disciple, coming to realize that discipling is about life; real life lived day by day.

I wonder what it was like for a 19 year old, or a young father of 23, or maybe even a grandfather crowded into a landing craft with no roof, wearing thirty pounds of gear, being tossed up and then sideways by the water, hearing but not being able to see the explosions, the machine guns, smelling the diesel and the salt, and hearing the muffled prayers and Hail Mary's around you in the close quarters. And then to hear and feel the craft's bottom scrape against and stop atop some hidden sand, stopping with a surge of bodies trying to stay themselves inside this now very small topless box. To hear but not quite see the ramp of a door that has been in front of you the last several minutes, disappear in front of you, exposing a view of several meters of water and then a narrow ribbon of beach. To hear "let's go!" and be part of the collective push out into the now exposed air, to step off the ramp and sink ankle, knee, neck, or deeper into the water, struggli