Another Bible Study Night Will Fix It... Really????

Why programmed church life isn’t enough—and how real discipleship begins where the calendar ends.

[This has been a busy summer for me, my debut novel will be released next week, it’s about Joshua, giants and the story of the Old Testament conquest of Canaan — Later this month a manuscript I wrote nearly 10 years ago will also be published; its an intimate memoir about the spiritual fathers who contributed to my life by mentoring me and discipling me at various stages in my journey, today’s post is the introductory chapter to that book about discipleship]

~Why is Christian community in America so often based on church meetings? Have you ever noticed that churches tend to organize social life around structured gatherings, rather than around the kinds of unplanned, natural friendships that unfold throughout the ordinary rhythms of daily life?

Here is a sample of recurring meetings I’ve seen in various churches: “Bible Study,” “Men’s Group,” “Women’s Group,” “Young Married Couples’ Group,” “Sunday School,” “Vacation Bible School,” “Youth Group,” “Promise Keepers,” “Wednesday Night Service,” “Divorce Recovery Group,” “Alcoholics Anonymous,” “College and Career Group.”

The list is virtually endless. And while there is nothing inherently wrong with organizing groups like these, there is something telling about our need to program fellowship so meticulously.

Can you imagine the twelve Apostles needing a

“Men’s Group” to facilitate real brotherhood?

It reveals something about our era: American Christianity does a remarkable job at organizing religious activity—but often does far less to form authentic friendships and spiritual kinship that blossom in the flow of daily life.

I’ve known many non-Christians throughout my life. Though I was raised in an Evangelical church culture, I’ve often found myself surrounded by more non-Christian acquaintances than Christian ones—not because I made any special effort, but simply because my non-Christian friends would drop by unexpectedly, call me to check in, or ask spontaneously if I wanted to grab dinner or see a movie. These interactions weren’t bound to a calendar. They emerged from relationship.

By contrast, church friendships in America are often tightly scheduled: confined to potlucks, programs, and planned events. But discipleship that depends solely on scheduled meetings becomes something less than the full Christian life. The Great Commission wasn’t, “Make sure you plan weekly events.” It was: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations…” The life Jesus modeled for us was one of immersion—His disciples lived beside Him, walked dusty roads with Him, heard Him pray, saw Him fast, watched how He treated strangers, and sat at His table.

My first spiritual father, Pastor Pohly, when he was alive, he understood this well. He was the first person in my life who showed me what real discipleship could look like— not as a program, but as a way of life. Though I wouldn’t have used this language at the time, he was my first spiritual father. After Sunday services, our church had a Fellowship Hour. For Pastor Pohly, that often turned into a three-hour occasion. He lingered. He listened. He laughed. But more than anything, he saw people. His ministry didn’t end at the benediction; in many ways, it began there. His discipleship extended into living rooms, hospital rooms, grocery store aisles, and late- night conversations. In hindsight, I now see this as an early glimpse into something profoundly Orthodox—this idea that faith is passed not merely through doctrine, but through relationship, through life shared.

In the Orthodox Church, we speak of spiritual fathers —those who walk with us over time, guiding us, challenging us, and encouraging us in the way of Christ. Not as distant authorities, but as fellow travelers who have tasted something real and want to help us taste it, too. In the years since Pastor Pohly, I’ve come to know Orthodox priests who have walked with me in this way—hearing my confessions, counseling me in struggle, and quietly modeling what it means to walk humbly with God in all things. And I’m convinced now more than ever that this is discipleship: the passing on of the Christian life, not just information. Jesus did not train His disciples through religious seminars. He brought them along in His daily life. He ate with them. He allowed them to ask embarrassing questions. They saw Him cry. They saw Him laugh. They saw Him bleed. What if that kind of immersion is still the way of real Christian formation?

How can we expect to raise up new disciples if they only see us once a week, wearing our Sunday best? How can we reveal the transformative power of Christ if we’ve compartmentalized faith into a set of polite, semi-weekly rituals? I believe one of the key reasons so many people— especially younger generations—have walked away from the Church is that they were handed an experience that looked more like a plastic performance than a living faith. They were told they were being “discipled,” but it happened in classrooms, not kitchens. In youth groups, but not at family dinners. They didn’t see the inner life of Christ being lived out in daily patterns. They saw programming. And many of them walked away.

This is not meant to be an indictment of the entire Church in America. There are wonderful communities doing beautiful work. But it is an invitation to all of us—myself included—to rethink what we mean when we say we want to “make disciples.” Are we imagining coffee shops, mentorship books, and curriculum? Or are we imagining homes with open doors, unglamorous errands, shared laughter, and long nights of prayer?

If we look at the way Jesus lived with His disciples, we see something much more fluid and intimate. He invited them into His life—not just His teachings. They walked with Him on the road, sat at tables with Him, witnessed His fatigue, His joy, and even His grief. What if that rhythm is still what discipleship is meant to look like?

I sometimes imagine what it would look like today: a pastor inviting a young believer to ride along while running errands, or stopping by someone's home simply to check in, unannounced but welcome. These small, unnoticed gestures may seem ordinary—but perhaps that is the point. Discipleship isn’t meant to be extraordinary. It’s meant to be incarnational—woven into the everyday.

The earliest followers of Christ understood this. Their communities were not built around events, but around shared lives. They broke bread together daily. They knew one another’s struggles and joys. They didn’t merely attend church—they became the Church to one another.

In our own time, this kind of life-on-life discipleship may feel unfamiliar, even inconvenient. But if the gospel really is the treasure we believe it to be, then it’s worth reshaping our habits to reflect that. We don’t need to reinvent the Church

—we simply need to remember it. And perhaps, by remembering, we’ll find that discipleship isn’t something added onto life, but the very way we live it.

Maybe it’s time we breathed like that again.