You feel it the moment you say yes

Over the weekend I found myself sitting with Matt Hatch’s book Metamorphosis. It is the kind of book you do not skim. You make time for it. You clear the diary, pour the coffee, and let it work on you. When you close it, your mind keeps moving.

Mine drifted to Elijah, John the Baptist, and Jesus. Different moments. One shared trajectory – the solid thread that ties them together is ‘discipleship’.

Throwing it under the microscope there is a compelling verse that carries the full weight and challenge of what it means to follow Jesus, it’s Luke 9:23. Jesus turns to the crowd, looks straight at them. Not the committed. Not the trained. Not the impressive. Just the crowd. And he says, If anyone (in the same measure as Joel’ prophecy; young or old, male or female, pauper or king) would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. That sentence is the rock-solid foundation of the New Testament vision of following Jesus.

The word disciple wasn’t a Christian invention. It’s worthwhile rolling out the original just to help emphasis what’s being said here; in the gospels the Greek word is mathētēs. A learner. An apprentice. Someone who binds their life to a teacher, not simply to absorb information but to be reshaped by closeness. As we behold Him we are changed and transformed. The striking thing is that the Gospels never stop with you in mind to pause and explain the term. No definition. No framework. No Ted Talk or 15-slide PowerPoint presentation. Jesus simply says, “Follow me.” And something happens.

Throw yourself back into the compelling, driving gospel narrative. Picture the moment. Nets still wet. Fish still flapping. A man holding his livelihood in his hands. There is a pause. A breath. A gasp of astonishment. And then the nets hit the sand. Any discipleship that we undertake, just like faith, begins not with hand-on-heart certainty, conviction and compelling but with trust.

For us, of necessity, the call to follow Jesus carries the cost and weight of discipleship. When Peter steps out of the boat, he is not enrolling. He is relinquishing. When Levi walks away from the tax booth, coins still warm on the table, he is not switching careers. He is shedding an identity. The name disciple comes later. The surrender comes first.

Scripture pushes this pattern backwards if you will, deep into prophetic history. Elijah does not argue Elisha into following him. He just throws a cloak – no words. A mantle. Nothing more. And Elisha understands the implication immediately. He slaughters the oxen, burns the plough, and the smoke says what words do not. Everyone eats. There is no return path. That same prophetic instinct shows up in John the Baptist. John gathers disciples only to release them. When Jesus walks by, John points and steps aside. True discipleship always knows when to let go.

Now hear Luke 9:23 again and turn up the volume. ‘Deny yourself.’ That is not self hatred. It is refusing to let the self keep the throne. Take up your cross daily. Not once. Not heroically. Daily. ‘Follow me.’ Not an idea. A person.

This is where the tension sits. Discipleship always threatens something. Control. Comfort. Delay. ‘Nets’ look different now to your personal ‘nets’, but they still carry weight. And Jesus does not pressure or manipulate.

He stands there and waits.

The invitation is not heavy-handed. It is honest. If nothing in your life ever needs denying, then nothing is really being followed.

Disciples are not admirers. They are people who have stopped negotiating the terms of obedience. That is the cost. And on the other side of the cross, strangely enough, is freedom.

Jesus never softens that truth. And he never needs to.

and all is well?

Good morning! It’s 7.00am GMT on 16th January 2026. We’re sixteen days into the new year, the weekend is already whispering to us from just around the corner.

How’s it going? How does it look so far? This morning, Alexa pinged before the kettle had finished boiling. “Jon – there is an amber alert…” Now, that’ll get your attention. Heart rate up before the coffee’s even poured. An alert. A warning. Something’s not right. The sense that you ought to act, but you’re not quite sure how.

And truth be told, for some, that sums up these first few weeks of the year. Not a disaster, necessarily. But not smooth sailing either. The amber lights are blinking. Something in the background says, pay attention. Maybe it’s your inbox. Maybe your health. Maybe that God-focused resolution that didn’t make it past New Year’s Day. Or the seeming silence of God, in a moment you had hoped would be full of His voice.

Solomon brings much needed encouragement, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.” That’s not soft guidance. That’s solid. You can take that to the bank of your life. In our frantic attempt to make sense of the alerts, the chaos, the slight tremors in our routines, this word remains unshaken, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.”

And it meets us right here – in a mish-mash culture that offers plenty of uneven surfaces, values. Your Bible app is probably two taps away on your phone, right next to Instagram. Maybe between Facebook and, more questionably, “X.” You open your phone to read Scripture, but you end up scrolling someone’s holiday in Goa. Or a stranger’s argument about bus lanes in Sheffield. Or a theological debate you never asked to be part of. And somehow, the heart slowly gets distracted, leaning, ever so slightly, on the wrong things. Even good things.

When Solomon interrupts your pace of life, your goals, dreams and aspirations with the words, “don’t lean on your own understanding”, he’s not asking you for a cerebral alt+ctrl+del . He’s steadying the ship, reminding us that our instinct is to trust what we feel, what we see and what makes sense to us in the moment, but those instincts, however well-informed, are not always anchored in truth. Instead of being anchored, they can be adrift; swayed by headlines, likes, late-night conversations at Starbucks, or the mislead certainty of your favourite influencer’s post.

The good news is that there is a way to live that isn’t driven by the tyranny of urgent notifications. In all your ways acknowledge Him. Yes, him again. Solomon keeps popping up in our feed – the algorithm of the Holy Spirit at work …

In all your ways acknowledge Him. Not just when you’re choosing a new job or praying for healing, but also when you’re choosing how to spend precious small moments between meetings and events – or wondering if anyone notices the tired look behind your smile.

Acknowledge Him there. Whisper His name. Speak it under your breath in the lift, or in the car, or when you’re walking the miles around your supermarket looking for that ‘stuff’ you never need. Until today. He sees. He knows. And He leads.

He will make your paths straight. That’s not a promise of ease. It’s not a straight line to your desired outcome. It’s direction. Clarity in confusion. Grace in every uncertain step. Even when your own understanding feels more persuasive.

Sixteen, l-o-n-g dark, wet, cold days in. Amber alerts and all. Let your heart lean hard on the only One who never changes.