The Bridge

Years ago, on the first Walk to Emmaus at Camp Sumatanga in North Alabama, I had gone to sit and pray on a small bridge across the small creek that flows next to Hutto Auditorium. I was about to go into the conference room and give the talk on discipleship to the men there that weekend. I can remember working hard on the talk. I had researched, studied, practiced under critique, and fine-tuned the subject of discipleship to a point with which I thought God would be well pleased. 

No sooner had I begun to pray than a young girl, maybe ten to twelve years old, came along and plopped right down on the bridge with me. Immediately, she disrupted my time of prayer and preparation, “Hi, my name is Shannon, what’s yours?” Hoping she would leave, I told her and she immediately followed up with another question, “What are you doing here?” I began to explain to her that I was about to go give a very important talk about discipleship to a group of men on a retreat. She was not the least impressed and asked, “Where does the water in this creek come from?” I was beginning to get frustrated and was trying to decide how I could get her to leave so I could continue my praying and preparation. However, I took the time and explained to her that about a half a mile upstream in the creek, past the pool camp and above a beaver pond, there was a spring coming out of the side of the mountain that provided the water for the creek. Immediately, she wanted to know if we could go and see the spring. I explained to her again that I did not have time. I was trying to get ready to give this talk on discipleship and needed time to prepare. Her immediate response was, “Why? What’s so hard about that?”

That did it. It was time. I was ready for her to leave. However, that small voice that sometimes speaks to us and moves us to do what we do not want to do spoke to me and nudged me to ask Shannon if she knew what a disciple was. She never blinked or hesitated. She simply said, “Yes.” With more than a hint of skepticism, I said, “Well, why don’t you tell me what a disciple is?” She looked up at me and said, “Sure, a disciple is someone who talks like Jesus talked, walks like Jesus walked, and loves like Jesus loved.” 

Needless to say, my pen was busy instantly; scratching out my well planned conclusion and, only a few minutes later, the men on that retreat heard of an encounter at the bridge and learned that a disciple was someone who talks like Jesus talked, walks like Jesus walked, and loves like Jesus loved.

Thank you, Shannon, for those precious moments at the bridge. It has now been over thirty years since that day and I still use your definition of a disciple. 

Brother Mike Densmore