Outlandish

An Unlikely Messiah, a Messy Ministry, and the Call to Mobilize

Derek Penwell

• Publisher: Chalice Press
• Year: 2019
• eBook ISBN: 9780827231672
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Biblical Criticism & Interpretation

Discover the improbable methods and ministry of a radical and revolutionary Jesus.

Jesus did everything wrong: Poor judgment picking a team of disciples. Ministering to the wrong people. Angering the wrong people. Having outrageous expectations of his followers. Questionable teaching methods. Allowing others to have unrealistic opinions about his mission. A humiliating end followed by an improbable surprise ending. And then, somehow, inspiring millions to attempt to change the world in his name.

Outlandish: An Unlikely Messiah, a Messy Ministry, and the Call to Mobilize shows how Jesus's ministry flew in the face of conventional wisdom, a ministry that would be described as misguided, mistaken, and miserable - and succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. Then, fast-forwarding two thousand years, learn how that kind of ministry is sorely needed today and the political, social, and organizational lessons to be learned from Jesus's radically different ministry.

Chapter One: The Worst Recruiter in History

Finding Out You Have It within You to Be a Jerk

If you were ever a middle schooler, you probably had one of two experiences of gym class: either you were among the kids who got picked first for dodge ball, or you felt like you were among the last. Even though a middle exists, in the perception of most middle schoolers, there are only two real positions on the pre-pubescent spectrum of athletic prowess—first and last. Most kids, I suspect, harbor a deep desire not to be chosen last.1

I grew up with the unflattering distinction of being a “pigeon-toed mouth-breather.” I was a pretty good athlete, so I didn’t worry overmuch about being chosen last. But I was goofy enough in other ways. I was painfully shy. I lived in fear that someone would notice how not-together I was, and draw it to everyone’s attention. It came as something of a surprise to me in seventh grade, for instance, that I had given up on bell bottoms and puca beads much later in the fashion cycle than my peers deemed sartorially appropriate. When someone raised the issue of my unfashionable attachment to hippie culture, I almost vomited. In fact, if I see a picture (one of which my sister dutifully posts every year or so on Facebook—and, since I’m the executor of our parents’ will, that is going to cost her dearly when the time comes) of myself from that time period, my face still flushes.

Humanity’s drive not to get picked last is a powerful one. That drive motivates us to compensate for our insecurities by valuing the kinds of accomplishments we believe the people we respect also value: being rich, good looking, smart, successful, witty—the kinds of things you hope are on full display for everyone when you go back to your high school reunion. We want to be the first ones picked when the bigwigs are choosing up sides for the game of life.

I remember a kid in my sixth grade class. His name was Russell. Russell didn’t appear to have a lot going for him—at least according to the standards applied by other sixth graders. For one thing, he was extremely needy. I use the adverb “extremely” after much consideration. Given that almost every sixth grader is “constitutionally” needy, Russell distinguished himself by the yawning chasm of his insecurities. He wanted so desperately to be liked, which is exactly the kind of egregious weakness that other insecure kids live to exploit in an attempt to deflect attention from themselves. Like the sick gazelle the rest of the herd has decided is the one they’re willing to sacrifice to the lions to save their own skins, Russell was the object of torment…precisely to the extent that he wanted so badly not to be.

For whatever reason, Russell had singled me out as his road to acceptance. He always seemed to be underfoot, like a four-month-old puppy who’s already chewed up everything in her reach, and has now decided that your hand…and jeans, and ears, and iPhone are next on the menu. He longed for my validation so badly, which had the effect of making me feel trapped. I wasn’t then, nor am I now, someone who functions well in the face of that kind of insatiable desperation.

My aversion to Russell had as much to do with my own insecurities as anything else. I was (and perhaps still am) a horrible human being—a knowledge I have regularly entertained at 3:00 in the morning when I wrestle with my own innumerable inadequacies. Nevertheless, and for whatever reason, Russell was like a piece of packing tape that, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get off of me. Seized with panic that everyone would assume I’d invited this kind of attention, I decided that I needed to do something dramatic to extricate myself from this dilemma, to put some distance between the sick gazelle and me.

One day at recess we were picking teams for kickball. It just so happens that I was one of the captains doing the choosing that particular day. Russell, as was his custom, sidled up to me and said, “Pick me! Pick me! Please!”

“Get back over there, Russell.” I tried to sound commanding, so that everyone else could see I hadn’t invited this kind of attention.

“Come on, Derek! Pick me!”

I couldn’t budge him. I pushed him away, but he kept coming back. I could sense all eyes on me. My face hot with embarrassment, I said, “Russell, if you don’t get off me, I’m going to punch you right in the mouth.” No reaction.

What I did next was the kind of thing that, when I’m tossing and turning in the wee hours of the morning, I still feel shame about. It was the kind of thing that strips one bare of the pretense of having risen above the uncultured herd, of being the hero of one’s own narrative.

The look on his face is burned onto the back of my retinas. The betrayal and humiliation he obviously felt lives on as one of those damning pieces of evidence offered by the prosecutor in the trial of my character. I hit a kid who, though annoying as hell, was just a kid trying not to be left out. And as another kid who was also afraid of being left out, to commit this horrible act haunts me—as if William Golding was taking field notes for Lord of the Flies, and he dreamed up Jack, the heartless thug, after seeing me punch Russell in the mouth.

After recess, I was called down to the principal’s office, where Russell was sitting, his eyes rimmed red from crying, with an ice pack on his jaw. Russell was a kid who needed someone to show him a little compassion, yet it was clear to me watching him hold that ice pack against his face that I valued my own reputation so much I was willing to commit violence to protect it. That thought still shames me.

But the other thing my idiot behavior toward Russell confirms to me is that, given the opportunity, human beings would much rather surround themselves with winners. We gravitate toward the strong, the beautiful, and the accomplished. I’m not a psychotherapist, so I won’t pretend to know the psychology of it, but I think I’m on pretty safe ground here. We like winners.2

Given the human propensity for preferring to surround ourselves with winners, while assiduously avoiding losers, Jesus is something of an odd duck, at least when it comes to organizational philosophy. Jesus, if you remember, surrounded himself with some fairly “low rent” pals—fishermen, a tax collector, and the odd insurgent freedom fighter (terrorist, if you happen to be reading the Gospels as an imperialist with a Roman rooting interest).

And if we want to step outside the inner circle for a moment, we also have to come to terms with the fact that Jesus had some inappropriate relationships with women. (No, not like that. I mean: he taught them, which was considered a fairly significant cultural no-no.) Jesus seemed to fail to understand the implications of his choice of companions. I’m not sure how else to say it, but Jesus had a nasty habit of hanging out with the people typically picked last when choosing up sides. He probably would have picked Russell first.

The Disciples: Going about It All Wrong

Not only did Jesus seem to waste his draft picks on the unfortunate and underwhelming, he employed a strategy for disciple-making guaranteed to befuddle everyone in his world. Having disciples wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows, but the way he went about it defied conventional wisdom.

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Table of contents

• Contents
• Praise for Outlandish
• Copyright
• Introduction
• Chapter One: The Worst Recruiter in History
• Chapter Two: The Worst Social Judgment
• Chapter Three: The Wrong Bunch of Folks to Anger
• Chapter Four: The Worst Moral Philosopher
• Chapter Five: The Worst Teaching Style
• Chapter Six: What a Horrible Messiah
• Chapter Seven: The Resurrection as God’s Ultimate Judgment
• Chapter Eight: What Do We Do?
• 10 Common Myths about Jesus
• Bibliography
• About the Author