If you’re anything like me, you’ve heard the word “repent” so many times that you never really thought to look too deeply at what it means. You know what it means. To regret. To regret your actions so deeply, that you change your actions in the future.

This is, in fact, the tried-and-true meaning of our English word. Regret and repent are so closely tied, in fact, that you’ll find verses in the King James Version that tell us that God “repented his decision” and relented.

But…wait. How can God repent? Doesn’t it imply sin? Doing something wrong? Why would the God who is the same yesterday, today, and forever change His perfect mind so fully as to also change His actions? That doesn’t quite jive, does it?

If you look at the history of our English word, you’ll trace its roots back to a Latin root that carries the same meaning.

But that Latin word isn’t what was used in the original New Testament when John the Baptist and Jesus called all men to “repent, for the Kingdom of God is at hand.” No, the word used in Greek is metanoia, and it doesn’t mean quite the same thing as our Latinate word. It’s literally meta, which means “beyond,” and nous, which means “mind or spirit.”

Look at that for a moment. This word that was chosen to represent what Jesus called us all to do was literally “to go beyond the mind you have now.” It doesn’t just mean to be sorry or to change your actions. It calls us to change our minds. To change our spirits. To look at the world in a new way. To see everything from the people around us to our problems to our health issues to our relationships through new eyes, a new mind.

Christianity is not just about recognizing sin. Christianity is not just about being sorry for where we fall short. Christianity is about learning to view our lives and the world through God’s eyes. That will involve putting aside the things that displease Him, yes. But it will also involve seeking, in every moment of every day, to grow closer and closer to Him. To crawl up into His lap as His child. To learn how to be the people He wants us to be, who this “new man” is that Christ has created with His sacrifice.

By nature, we are all selfish–it’s how we survive. We see things from our own perspective, in terms of how it benefits or impacts us. We see things through the lens of our emotions, our biases…and our fears. Those things shape not only our wants and don’t-wants, they shape our interactions, our judgments, our words, and our actions. So when Jesus calls us to a new way, a way beyond the mind we have now, by nature, that involves moving beyond those perspectives, too. It involves loving those you disagree with. It involves praying for those who try their best to make your life miserable…and those who just don’t stop to think about you at all. It involves showing respect to people who really don’t deserve it. It involves choosing radical peace instead of fight or flight. It involves not complaining, but rather looking for God’s opportunities in every situation.

It involves loving like Christ loves. It involves being humble and gentle and controlled. It involves being willing to sacrifice what the world says matters for what HE says matters.

Because He already did. He gave up His home in heaven to come and heal the broken relationship between man and God. He gave us His life in order to restore ours and make us fit for heaven. And He offers us these new eyes to see. These new spirits to perceive. These new minds to think about things in new ways. And this, my friends, is not a one-time challenge we accept.

This is a process we have to live our whole lives. We all know we’re never “there,” right? Life is a journey, not a stop along the road. Each step we take, each mile we cover, we’ll meet new challenges and encounter new problems and stumble in new potholes. Of course, we will. There will be pain and anger and betrayal. Of course, there will. There will be days when we cannot see the road through the storm, through the fog, through the darkness. Of course, there will.

But that’s where this call, this promise, this Way of Christ is so beautiful–that’s when we get to cry out to God and ask Him to help us see beyond this mind, beyond this spirit, beyond this way of thinking or feeling that has us trapped.

And that, I think, is what really makes us free. Not gaining independence from forces in the world, not even only being set free from our sins–but being free, too, from the chains of our own minds and eyes and perceptions. Free of us…and free to be His. Free to live as He lives. To love as He loves.

And that, my friends…that really does change everything.

The seventy-two returned rejoicing, and they said, “Lord, in your name even the demons are subject to us.” ¹⁸ He said to them, “I watched Satan fall from heaven like lightning. ¹⁹ Behold, I have given you the power to tread upon snakes and scorpions and all the forces of the enemy, and nothing will ever harm you. ²⁰ Nevertheless, do not rejoice in the knowledge that the spirits are subject to you. Rejoice rather that your names are inscribed in heaven.” ~ Luke 10:17-20

Through the power of the Spirit, we can accomplish mighty works for the Kingdom.
Nevertheless, don’t rejoice in that.

Through the name of Jesus, even the demons are subject to us.
Nevertheless, don’t rejoice in that.

Through the blood of our Lord, we can heal and be healed of our afflictions.
Nevertheless, don’t rejoice in that.

Through the whisper of the Helper, we can be given answers to any question.
Nevertheless, don’t rejoice in that.

Through the provision of the Father, we can flourish in any circumstance.
Nevertheless, don’t rejoice in that.

Through the hand of our Lord, enemy eyes can be blinded.
Nevertheless, don’t rejoice in that.

Through the power of our God, nature can be subjected to us.
Nevertheless, don’t rejoice in that.

He gives us everything. He gives us the world. He gives us the Kingdom. He gives us dominion not only of the creation notes in Genesis, but over the world we cannot see–those princes and powers that Paul talks about. Through the name of Jesus, all is subject.

Do we walk in that? Do we live those promises? The disciples that Jesus sent out did, and they were not only amazed, they came home practically dancing in joy. I can’t blame them! After a lifetime of a workaday existence, suddenly they understand what it means to hold authority. They see miracles that they got to be a part of. They got to witness the boundless joy of parents whose children were healed, of people whose lives were given back to them, of demons cast out.

This is amazing, earth-shifting stuff. Amazing, earth-shifting stuff that Jesus commands them to do, first here and then in the Great Commission. These things are meant to be not the exception but the rule of walking with Him.

And yet . . . and yet.

That is not what we should crave. That is not what should fill our hearts with joy. That is not what it’s all about.

No. What it’s all about is belonging with God. Being reconciled to Him. Becoming a true son or daughter of the King, so that our names are written in Heaven. Inscribed there. We become part of Heaven’s history, part of its future. We are in its books.

It’s so interesting how Christ talks about this, though, isn’t it? He doesn’t say, “It doesn’t matter if you do any of these great things or not, because at least your name is inscribed in heaven.” Nope. What He says is, “Yes, you can do all this. You must. You will. But that is just the manifestation of the true miracle: you are now sharing with Me, the Heir to that Kingdom, all that comes with it. You are God’s child and He is your Father.”

So often I think we have it backward. We consider salvation the easy thing and miracles the hard thing. We consider believing in Christ the nominal thing and the promised, amazing works the nearly impossible thing. But Jesus, as He so often does, flips our understanding around and says, “No. The true miracle is your salvation. And once you have that, the greatest miracle of all time, what are the others? They’re just the crumbs that fall off the feasting table.”

We can do all things through Christ–we can flourish in trials, we can rejoice in pain, we can remain humble in abundance, we can share the grief of others in the midst of our own joy. Nevertheless, don’t rejoice in what we see Him doing.

Rejoice in who we’ve become through our faith in Him–beloved sons and daughters of the King of kings.

In I King 19, we get the story of when Elisha is called to follow Elijah:

So Elijah left that place and found the son of Shaphat who was plowing with twelve yokes of oxen preceding him (he was driving the twelfth pair himself), and he tossed his mantle on him. ²⁰ Elisha left the oxen and ran after Elijah and said, “Please let me kiss my father and mother good-bye and then I will follow you.” But he said, “Go back, what have I done to you?”

²¹ He went back, and took a yoke of oxen and killed them. He used the oxen’s equipment to boil their meat, and he gave it to the people to eat. He then got up and followed Elijah, ministering to him.

Then in Luke we get a rather similar sounding story with two variations, but in which the would-be followers are unnamed and the teacher is Jesus:

⁵⁹ To another he said, “Follow me.” The man replied, “Lord, allow me to go first and bury my father.” ⁶⁰ Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead. You are to go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”

⁶¹ Another man said, “I will follow you, Lord, but allow me first to say farewell to my family at home.” ⁶² Jesus said to him, “No one who puts his hand to the plow and then looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

Have you ever wondered at the difference in these two passages? In the Gospels, we’re given the impression that to “go and say goodbye” or “bury my father” is grounds for being rejected; yet in the Old Testament, Elijah says, “Hey, I’m not forcing you to do anything here. If you wanna say goodbye, go for it.”

Given how brief these passages are, my musing here is going to be pure conjecture…but hey, that’s why we’re here, right? To muse and consider.

One thing that I want to put out here right away is something I read recently in a biography of Mary Madgadelene: Biblical writers were very conscious of what they were saying about people either alive or revered. In the Old Testament, we regularly see sins of the patriarchs not expounded on. It wasn’t because everyone didn’t know they were sinning, but rather because they were giving respect to their ancestors. The same sort of thing often happened in the New Testament. If the person about whom they were writing was still alive and their privacy or safety was at stake, the writers chose to leave then nameless; they’d do the same if a story could reflect negatively on someone they didn’t want to disrespect. (I don’t know about you, but I found that fascinating and insightful! Like, oh, they were left nameless on purpose and for a reason. That explains a lot!)

So why might these nameless people in the Gospel have been dismissed? We can assume it was for a negative reason. That they made the wrong choice. That their intentions weren’t good. That the truth would have reflected negatively on them.

Elisha, however, is a different case altogether. Yes, he asked to go say goodbye…but what do we then see him doing? He’s not embracing his parents and weeping for the life left behind. He’s certainly not following Elijah half-heartedly. He returns to offer a sacrifice. More, he particularly chooses to sacrifice the work he had been doing. He uses the very oxen he’d been plowing with, and their yokes for the fire. This wasn’t just a farewell to his parents–this is a very symbolic action, in which he is giving all he was, all that represented his family and stable, even wealthy life, to God. He put it quite literally on the altar. We don’t actually see him saying that promised goodbye to his parents, but we can assume they came out to see what in the world he was doing and said goodbye.

The important thing here is that he didn’t just drop everything–he left it for good. When he decided to follow the path of the Prophet, he followed with his whole heart.

If we look at the disciples, we see similar stories. When Jesus called them, they came running. Now, we also know they didn’t just abandon their families–after all, Jesus heals Peter’s mother-in-law. They were still in the same neighborhood, they still stayed at their own homes at least from time to time. This was not a hateful, disrespectful thing they did. But in the moment, they came with their whole hearts. The questions of “how will we survive?” and “what will people think?” weren’t relevant to this decision.

Jesus called–or in Elisha’s case, God the Father called–and they answered. They answered with a resounding, “I’m coming, Lord! Here I am!”

Those two nameless would-be followers, though…one approached Jesus, but it seems He saw something reserved in the man. He issued a warning. We don’t even see whether this deterred the man or not, but we assume it did. Then He calls to another, who presumably wasn’t asking for a few minutes like Elisha was, so he could go and sacrifice everything–Jesus, who knew his heart, must have known that. That he wasn’t just asking to say goodbye…he was perhaps looking for an excuse to delay. He wanted to see the people who would talk him out of it, so he could come back, perhaps, and say, “Sorry, Lord, my dad really needs me, and we’re supposed to honor our parents, so…”

And we are. Of course we are. But here’s the thing: we’re not honoring our parents if we’re disobeying God. He is our ultimate Father. So when He calls, there is only one right answer. To follow. To follow without looking back with longing on the life you’re leaving behind. To follow without looking for excuses to change your mind. To follow with your whole heart–and to minister. Did you catch that in Elisha’s story? He followed Elijah and ministered to him.

God asks easy things of us, and He asks hard things too. He asks us to give of ourselves and put Him first. He asks us to draw ever closer to Him, knowing that the more we give up of our own lives, the more we’ll be given the life He wants for us. He promises abundance…but it just doesn’t always look like we expect it to. Elisha went on to receive a double portion of Elijah’s spirit, and the disciples went on to perform miracles “even greater” than the ones Christ performed. They lived rich, full, crazy lives.

I like to think that those unnamed would-be followers in fact did become followers, and that’s why these stories don’t name them. Because they saw the fault in their initial reaction and shared the stories with the others of the time they messed up. But praise God, He doesn’t just call our name once. Much like He did with Samuel, He calls it until we learn how to answer him.

What sort of goodbye do you say when He calls you?